


The Beautiful Game

by BackupZebo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clint is still a mess, F/M, Manager!Natasha, Soccer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9922307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BackupZebo/pseuds/BackupZebo
Summary: Washington Eagles F.C. are a struggling pro soccer club in England. They decide to place their trust in young, female manager Natasha Romanoff to restore the once great club to its former glory. With club captain Steve Rogers, fan-favourites Tony Stark and Clint Barton and wonder goalkeeper T'Challa at her side, can she restore this once great club? Soccer/Football AU





	1. The Contract

**The Beautiful Game**

**Chapter 1: The Contract**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fake teams_

* * *

 

Natasha Romanoff had been enduring a broken, hazy slumber before the phone rang. The harsh bell ringtone rang out, piercing the near complete silence of the bedroom in her apartment. She jolted upright and fumbled blindly for her smartphone on the bedside table, eventually wrapping her fingers around the cold casing. She swallowed the dryness in her mouth before answering.  
"Hello?" Natasha croaked, hoping her voice didn't betray the fact that she had been asleep.  
"Natasha. Washington Eagles in Northern England got back to me a few minutes ago. They want you. The contract is more or less ready to be signed, I got you the best I could," Pepper Potts, Natasha's agent, replied. Natasha sat bolt upright, smoothing out her red curls and rubbing her eyes, no fully alert.  
"Really?" She asked. "What, now?"  
Pepper giggled nervously down the line.  
"I just booked us a flight to Heathrow and a train to Sunderland and a hotel for a few nights. We'll be in Washington by Tuesday evening. Pack your bags, kid. I'm on my way to your apartment."  
Pepper arrived after a half-hour, together they packed Natasha's suitcase and discussed their impending adventure.

Natasha was a soccer manager. She had recently run out her contract with an MLS club, despite a decent end to the season. Since then, Pepper had been searching for vacant positions all around the country before getting into contact with the struggling English Second Division club Washington Eagles F.C.. The club had fallen on hard times in recent seasons, resulting in the sales of major players and the club's fall from grace as a major contender in the English Premier Division. As a result, many young, inexpensive American exports had been signed by the Eagles. Despite the financial troubles, the club had managed to stave off relegation to the Third Division at the end of the season. Unfortunately, the manager resigned shortly after, the 60 year old citing stress as a main factor for his resignation.

Natasha had researched each player on Washington's books and had watched hours of tapes as preparation should she be offered a contract. The players were young- between the ages of 17 and 25- and certainly had the potential to improve under the right guidance. The club had a strong academy, helmed by Phil Coulson, and provided backups for the starters.

Once on the plane, Natasha took out her binder and began studying the contents once again. She had a profile of each member of the starting eleven, beginning with the captain, Steve Rogers.

NAME: Steven Rogers  
AGE: 23  
ROLE: Captain  
POSITION: Striker (5th highest scorer in Second Division in previous season.)  
STRENGTHS: Height allows for prowess at heading and volleys. Physical strength. Accurate from both close and mid range. Leader of team. Chemistry with JAMES BARNES allows for more opportunities  
WEAKNESSES: Often tracks too deep to receive ball, makes counter-attacking difficult.

At the bottom of the file, there was a photo of Rogers. His blond hair was instantly recognisable. As was his large frame. Natasha flipped over the page to examine the next profile.

NAME: T'Challa  
AGE: 24  
POSITION: Goalkeeper  
STRENGTHS: Extremely quick reflexes. Strong in stops. Long kick. Won "Save of the Season" award last season. Strength and speed.  
WEAKNESSES: Few. No noticeable flaws, requires only training and better defenders.

Natasha continued to examine her notes for most of the long flight, pausing only to catch up on her missed hours of sleep. It was morning when they landed in London. Pepper rushed them onto a packed train and they settled in again for a two hour long trip. Natasha examined two more profiles.

NAME: Clint Barton  
AGE: 23  
POSITION: Defensive midfielder preferred but can play anywhere in midfield when required.  
STRENGTHS: Pin-point accuracy in passes. Strong in tackles. Fan favourite. Accurate with either foot.  
WEAKNESSES: Can lose focus often. Slightly hot-headed. Missed much of previous season due to injuries.

NAME: Tony Stark  
AGE: 24  
POSITION: Attacking midfielder, can play as a full back when required.  
STRENGTHS: Uses trickery on more physical opponents, willing to defend when needed. Rarely gives up on games when losing. Fan favourite.  
WEAKNESSES: Can be complacent. Off-field life overshadows actual performances.

"All right, put it away, Natasha," Pepper ordered. Natasha sighed and closed her notes and tried to eat the sandwich she had bought from the food trolley on the train. However, her stomach rolled and twisted, making eating difficult. Natasha shifted nervously in her seat. Pepper returned to her newspaper from where she sat opposite Natasha.  
"Tell me about the chairman one more time," she asked. Pepper considered her from over the paper before folding it and speaking.  
"Nicholas J. Fury is the owner and chairman. He recently bought the club and appointed Maria Hill as chief executive. He's a perfectionist, but so are you. Fury is looking forward to meeting you in person. He has appointed several new doctors and coaches since May, including Wanda Maximoff, your potential assistant manager. Everything's gonna be all right, I promise..." Pepper said, reaching out and brushing Natasha's hand. Pepper recognised the familiar look of steely determination in her friend and client's green eyes.

* * *

 

Eventually, at almost five o'clock on Tuesday evening, the train pulled into the station. The club had sent a car to collect them from the station. Rain had begun to fall onto the pavement and splattered on the windshield and roof.  
"Welcome to the English Summer," the driver joked when Natasha and Pepper had settled in. Natasha had begun to relax. Her situation seemed to be less surreal. She almost believed she was going to be Washington Eagles manager.

They left the city after getting stuck in rush hour traffic and eventually reached Washington town before pulling into the club grounds in the suburbs. The entrance to the training grounds and buildings consisted of an electronic barrier and high walls surrounded the complex.  
The rain had ceased but grey clouds lingered ominously on the horizon. The car halted in front of the main building in the complex. It was two stories high and was a dull grey in colour, save for the ornate brown double doors and grand pillars at the front. The double doors bore the team crest of an eagle in flight, wings spread out with the club name embroidered around the emblem.

Natasha and Pepper stepped out of the car and were met by a woman of middle height but taller than Natasha, with wavy blonde hair that reached her shoulders. Her blouse was rolled up to her elbows and she looked stressed, but not flustered. She held a black folder in her arms and stood beneath the veranda of the grey building. Natasha and Pepper were led over to the blonde woman by their driver. The woman smiled warmly and extended her hand firstly to Natasha, then to Pepper.  
"Sharon Carter," she said confidently. "I'm the head of Public Relations and Human Resource here at Washington. It's a pleasure to have you here."  
Sharon's warmth calmed Natasha immensely. Sharon instructed the women to follow her. They walked into a well furbished reception area. Sharon led them down several corridors and up stairs until she stopped in front of a door marked: MEETING ROOM.  
Sharon knocked before entering.  
"Ms. Romanoff is here, sir," she said.  
"Bring her in then," came a brisk reply from a deep male voice.

  
Sharon gestured for Natasha and Pepper to come inside the room. A long mahogany table ran along the centre of the room. Underfoot there was a plush navy carpet with the eagle emblem embellished into the centre. A floor to ceiling window ran along the back wall, affording views of the training pitch and training buildings. There was currently a session taking place on the pitch.  
A large man and a slim woman sat at the foot of the table. Both stood when the women entered. The woman was tall and pale with raven hair pulled into a bun. She wore a pantsuit coloured navy. The man was average height, with dark coloured skin and was bald. He also had an eye patch over one eye which made him look very intimidating. He wore a black suit and a trench coat hang on the back of his chair.  
"Ah, Ms. Romanoff and Ms. Potts. Nice to finally meet in the flesh," the man said, extending his hand to shake. He gestured for them to sit alongside him.  
"My name is Nicholas Fury, but I prefer Nick, or Fury. Depends on my mood," he said. Fury turned to his left and gestured to the woman. "This here is Maria Hill."

Hill shook hands with both women and they all sat at one end of the elongated table.  
"I've never been one to beat around the bush, Natasha, so I'll cut to the chase. This team has been performing poorly recently, the last owners ran the finances into the ground and sold the best players to cover debts. But I bought this place to rebuild it. Make it better. The last manger almost put my plans in jeopardy. In contrast, you led an MLS minnow of a team to a very high finish, thus making you the youngest and first female manager in US soccer history," Fury said. "I want that same guts and fire here, which is why I want you to manage this team."

As he finished his sentence, he nodded at Hill who opened a briefcase and took out several sheets of stapled paper. She slid it over to Pepper, who in turn gave it to Natasha. She went through It slowly, taking in all the information. Fury wanted success for his club, and as far as he was concerned, success was equal to promotion to the First Division once more.  
Natasha glanced at Pepper who seemed satisfied and then smiled.  
"Where do I sign?" She asked. Maria Hill smiled for the first time, as did Fury. They gave Natasha a pen and answered her questions.  
Pepper had booked them into a hotel for a few nights but Hill announced that the club owned a house in the town that all managers lived in during their tenure and arrangements were made for Natasha to move in by the start of the end of the week.

At the end of the meeting, Fury instructed Sharon to assemble the players that were training in the briefing room as soon as they were showered and dressed, along with the coaching staff.  
After a few minutes, Sharon returned with the news that everyone was ready. Natasha's stomach twisted and knotted with anticipation, the hairs on her arms stood up. Pepper placed a calm hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Fury and Hill took the express route to the briefing room in the training building adjacent to the main building while Sharon gave Natasha a partial tour before eventually halting in front of a door.  
Voices speaking could be heard from the other side. Natasha took several deep breaths to calm herself but could not keep her stomach from jumping when Sharon turned to her. She told Natasha that there was a bathroom if she wanted to spruce up her appearance. Natasha gratefully accepted the opportunity. She smoothed out the shirt she had put on in the train bathroom, pulled her unruly hair in to a ponytail and sprayed perfume.  
When she returned to Pepper and Sharon. The PR officer stood with one hand on the silver painter metal door handle. She grinned a wide, white smile.  
"Are you ready to meet your team?


	2. The Team

 

** The Beautiful Game **

_ I own nothing but fake team, the plot and original characters _

* * *

Steve Rogers stood on the dewy grass of the training field, green grass stains on his black training kit. His feet stood shoulder width apart as he stared at the soccer ball before him. Steve looked at the ball, then the goal 30 yards away and to Steve’s left, and back again as he prepared to line up a shot. T’Challa was very nearly the height of the goal and it made Rogers’ task look all the more daunting. The air was still damp from that day’s downpour and Steve’s blond hair stuck flat to his scalp. Steve took one last look at the top right corner of the goal before exhaling and beginning his steps toward the ball.

T’Challa waved his long arms to distract Rogers but Steve focused only on the ball as he ran toward it. He felt himself inhale as his right leg wound back and then, exhale as he struck the ball with his right foot. Steve held his breath as he watched the ball soar swiftly towards the goal. Though the ball was struck with speed and venom, T’Challa had been able to watch its flight. He leapt to the right-hand corner and got a strong gloved hand to the ball to push it out to the side. However, the shot used so much power that T’Challa’s hand stung, even through his thick gloves.

Steve ran his hands through his hair in frustration but managed a wry smirk. The goalkeeper sprang back to his feet, a bright smile on his face.

“You can surely do better than that, Rogers,” T’Challa teased through his thick Wakandan accent, picking up the ball. Steve laughed.

“Hey, it’s a slippery ball. Damn thing skidded off my foot,” the blond replied. T’Challa tossed him the ball and Steve replaced it in the bag with the other footballs. They were the last two people of the training grass and they jogged around to pick up stray cones and equipment before joining their teammates in the dressing rooms.

These rooms were housed in a small building, separate from the imposing grey buildings of the rest of the complex. The dressing rooms were a single level building with showers next door. Steve and T’Challa strode through the doors into the long dressing rooms. The rest of the players that had been training for the pre-season were there. Steve walked over to his spot in the far-left corner of the room and sat down. His best friend and teammate James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was already sitting down, having taken off his wet jersey, leaving on his Under-Armour vest. Barnes was beginning to peel off his trademark silver tape that was wrapped around his left arm, stretching from the bases of his fingers to halfway up his biceps. Bucky nodded in acknowledgement of Steve’s presence. Steve grunted back and began peeling his damp kit off.

Suddenly, just as Steve had successfully removed his jersey, the old wall-mounted telephone by the doors rang out. All the other players jolted and complained, each telling the other to answer it. Sighing heavily, Steve got up to answer it. His legs were heavy and his joints ached and he shuffled over. The other men had quickly got over their shock at the phone’s shrill noise and had resumed their usual loud volume.

“Hello?” Steve greeted, lifting the receiver to his mouth.

“Steve. Just the man I was looking for,” Sharon replied, sounding stressed. Steve had to strain his ears to hear her and held his hand up for quiet. Instantly, a hush fell over the rowdy players in response to their captain.

“What is it?” Steve asked. The phone in the dressing rooms was only called when things were urgent.

“There’s someone Mr. Fury wants you and the boys to meet. Be showered, freshly scented and fully clothed in the briefing room in fifteen minutes. Maximoff’s been told, so expect her any time now. Be ready when she arrives. This is urgent, Rogers.” Sharon spoke with such gravity that Steve immediately complied and put down the phone. He turned around to face his expectant teammates. Rogers clapped his hands together.

“All right, boys. We’re wanted in the briefing room in fifteen. Get your backsides cleaned and smelling like daisies in ten. Maximoff is on her way, so you know that means be ready in five. If you’re ready, head over. Let’s get to it!” Steve announced. The players raced into action. Most made for the adjourning showers while a few others zipped up their bags and made for the big complex.

* * *

 

Wanda Maximoff, the interim head coach until the next manager appointment, arrived just as the last man out of the showers (Tony Stark) finished buttoning his shirt. The usual smell of sweat and grass was unusually absent from the dressing rooms as she entered. Instead, it was replaced by aftershave and deodorant. There was five men left, excluding Steve who had stayed behind to supervise and to make sure no one was lost in transit from there to the briefing room. Wanda tore into the room like a whirlwind.

“C’mon, c’mon! Get moving! Not a good idea to make Fury wait!” she exclaimed. Clint Barton had been kneeling under a wall-mounted bench, searching for his shoes when he jumped at the yells of the coach, whacking his head off the wooden bench. Tony Stark and Thor Odinson reached down and pulled him out, dumping him onto the floor.

“Barton! I swear if you get injured again, I will personally kick your ass off the team!” Wanda declared. Clint rubbed his head and stood up, finding his ‘missing’ shoe on top of his gear bag while Bucky concealed a giggle. The men finished getting ready and hefted their bags onto their shoulders. Wanda ushered them out of the dressing rooms and escorted them across the gravel and into the main complex. They sped to the briefing room to find that nothing had begun. Wanda nodded at Steve, who took charge while the coach raced off in search of someone. Steve organised his teammates into their seats before taking a chair in the front row for himself. After five minutes, the door to the briefing room opened. Steve did a quick head count to make sure the other players were all there and was satisfied with the number.

When he turned his head back to the top of the room, he saw Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Sharon Carter, Wanda and two other unfamiliar women. One of the new women was tall and elegant with long, strawberry blonde hair. The other was shorter, with fiery curls tied in a ponytail. The shorter woman was about the same age as most of the team, including him. Steve couldn’t help but stare slightly as she strode confidently alongside the Chairman. The party of six came to a halt at the top of the room, on a small stage. Fury cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, while the red-haired woman surveyed the large group in front of her. Steve felt himself sit straighter when her intense green gaze eventually settled on him.

“Who’s the ginger broad?” Brock Rumlow whispered into Steve’s ear. Steve bristled and shifted in his seat, shooting Rumlow a look that read _‘shut up’_.

“Men, we have assembled you here today because we have an important announcement to make,” Fury boomed, his voice reverberating off the walls. He gestured at the small woman, who came to stand beside him.

“This here is Natasha Romanoff… We have come to an agreement and it is now confirmed. Ms. Romanoff is our new manager here at Washington Eagles…” Fury paused to let his words sink in. Steve snapped his head to look at Natasha Romanoff. There were murmurs around the hall before a round of applause broke out, led by Rogers, Barnes and T’Challa. Fury waited for quiet before continuing.

“Natasha is here because we believe- no, we _know_ \- that she is the best candidate for the job. You boys behave and everything will be just fine. If not…well, there’s always other clubs looking for players. Now, I think I’ll let Ms. Romanoff say a few words. If she’s not too jetlagged.”

The redhead smiled and laughed before standing in the centre of the stage. She walked with such confidence, such purpose, it seemed that she had been a part of the Eagles staff for years.

“I’m not going to lie and tell you that I think we’re going to walk our way into a promotion spot. I’ve done too much research and have too much intelligence for that… It’s going to be a dogfight. A long, drawn-out, draining dogfight. But I believe that this club, these players in front of me, can slug it out with the best of ‘em,” Natasha gazed around the room as she spoke. Several players sat straighter, intrigued by her words.

 “I’ve studied you as players, I know your strengths and weaknesses as they look on paper and on highlight reels. But paper and reality are two different beasts. I will scrutinise you, beginning with the basics and working my way up to the artistry. It won’t be easy, but I think you boys can take it, so does Mr. Fury and so does Ms. Maximoff. Do you?” She looked out on the players. They each sat enthralled in her little speech, some nodding slightly, some mouthing _‘yes’_ silently, others were stony faced.

“I think that just about covers it, Mr. Fury,” Natasha said, smiling sweetly.

“Just about,” Fury said, smiling smugly.

Steve and the others watched as Fury led the new manager out of the room. Everyone seemed to exhale a universal breath as the door shut. A hush fell over the usually boisterous group. The silence was only broken when Clint spoke.

“She’s gonna make us run, isn’t she?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support! It means so much to me. Be sure to tell me if you liked this chapter.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. The First Training

** The Beautiful Game **

_ I own nothing but fake teams, the plot and original characters _

* * *

 

Natasha was officially announced as the Eagles new manager three days after meeting her players. She was still living out of a hotel room, though Fury had said that she would be moving into a house in the coming days.  Since the official announcement, Natasha had done several interviews, a press conference and a photoshoot for the club website, where she was given the navy home jersey of the Washington Eagles with her name on the back to pose with. 

Now, however, she was hurriedly getting ready to attend her first training session with the team. Natasha quickly tied up her hair to keep it from getting in her face. She grabbed her binder and notebook and stuffed them into her bag. It was a sunny day outside and Natasha was wearing the blue coach’s training jersey with short sleeves. She glanced at her watch as she grabbed the keys to her hire car and saw that it was just gone nine o’clock.

Natasha made it to the training complex car-park in thirty minutes and looked around at the numerous luxury cars parked, and presumably owned, by the players who started games regularly. She parked in an empty corner and made her way to her new office on the ground floor of the main building. She strode through the grand double doors of the building’s entrance and navigated down the numerous hallways, toward her office. The room was large, with a couch and a large television mounted on the wall by the door. The carpet was like the one upstairs in the meeting room in that it was navy and soft, and bore the club crest in the centre.  Opposite the door, there was a desk with an Apple computer on it. Behind the desk, there was a line of windows that began halfway up the wall. The windows provided Natasha with an unobstructed view of the training pitch and dressing rooms. 

Wanda Maximoff was already on the field with the other coaches, setting up cones for practice drills. Natasha grabbed her whistle and boots out of her bag before throwing her shoulder bag onto the couch and leaving her office, locking the door. She slipped her whistle on over her head and slid on her boots once she was outside in the air. Natasha jogged over to join her assistant. They had shared little more than a brief conversation since Natasha was appointed and were intending on discussing tactics and line-ups after the training session.

“Good morning,” Natasha greeted, coming to stand beside Wanda. Maximoff jumped and turned but recovered her composure to give a smile.

“Morning,” she greeted, folding her arms. “You arrived here alright?”

Natasha nodded and glanced over at the dressing rooms. Some players were on the way toward the field but most were still inside.

“How long do they take to get ready?” Natasha asked. Wanda smirked.

“Not long, if you use my method,” she answered, pulling out a bullhorn from her gear bag.  Wanda wore a sly, knowing smile. Natasha flicked her eyes to the bullhorn and then to Wanda’s face, adopting her own smirk.

“I’ve got a feeling this is gonna be a fruitful partnership,” Natasha said.

* * *

 

Steve stood inside the door of the dressing room, waiting on his fellow players to get ready. Tony, Bucky and Thor were already outside and Steve was eager to personally meet the new manager. T’Challa and Peter Quill made their way outside past Steve, T’Challa winked as he past.

Just as Steve was about to yell at the others for being so slow, he spotted Wanda and Romanoff, the new manager, striding toward him. He spotted Maximoff’s trademark bullhorn and could barely conceal his grin as he glanced around at the stragglers in the dressing room. Maximoff’s own brother, Pietro, was among the slowpokes. Silently, the two coaches crept up beside Steve, who stepped back quietly. Wanda crept inside while Romanoff peered around the door. Steve got an up-close look at her face. He was stunned by startlingly green eyes and flame like hair.

Suddenly, harsh sound of the bullhorn went off, frightening the remaining players so much that several fell over.

“Time’s up, ladies! Get your asses out there or it’s shuttle runs until you throw up!” Wanda shouted. The men scrambled to their feet and rushed out, almost tripping over themselves in the process. Wanda turned on Steve, threatening him with the bullhorn.

“You too, Blondie,” she said. Steve smiled and jogged off.

Wanda tossed Natasha the bullhorn. “It comes in pretty handy.”

They crossed the yard to the pitch, their boots crunching on the gravel. Natasha took her place in front of the large group of players. She recognised some faces such as Stark, Barton, Thor and silver-haired Pietro Maximoff.

“Alright, I’m gonna assume that you found out about me since we last met, now it’s my turn to find out about you. For a warm-up, you’re gonna sort into a training game, offense versus defence. Offense wears bibs. Let’s go!” Natasha announced. The team seemed to share a look of uncertainty before their captain took charge. Rogers strode forward confidently and picked up the bag of bibs, pulling on a neon yellow one. Bucky and Tony stepped forward next and retrieved a bib. They were followed by Pietro Maximoff, Clint Barton, James Rhodes and a few others. Wanda threw Stark a ball and blew her whistle to begin, while Natasha watched intently.

Tony rolled the ball in front of him as the others positioned themselves on one side of the pitch. Quill went to close him down and Tony was forced to pass it to the nearby Clint. Barton looked up after taking a touch to nudge the ball in front of him. He saw Steve jostling with Thor and then spotted Pietro dashing in behind the defensive line. Clint deftly sent a diagonal high pass toward Barnes. Sam Wilson was quick but did not have the explosive speed that Pietro was known for and was beaten to the ball by the Maximoff brother. Pietro controlled the ball with the inside of his foot. Steve and Bucky ran into the penalty box and Pietro sent in a cross. Steve leapt but the ball soared over his head, however, Bucky was perfectly placed behind him to receive the ball. The defenders scrambled to recover and Brock Rumlow launched himself at Bucky’s feet to tackle. Bucky controlled the ball and quickly moved it left of Rumlow’s rash challenge. Barnes struck the ball low and hard towards the goal. T’Challa was equal to the shot and blocked it with his legs before dropping down on it.  

Natasha watched as the players battled it out for a half-hour, the offense scoring two goals while Thor, Sam and T’Challa gave standout performances in defence. Wanda has forced to whistle for a foul when Rumlow launched a reckless challenge at Tony’s feet, catching the midfielder’s calf with his studs. The game’s second goal came when Clint spotted T’Challa less than a foot off his goal line and took a looping shot from the halfway line that went over the heads of all other players and soared into the net. Wanda finally ended the match after Clint scored.

The coaches then separated the players into groups of six and assigned them different drills. They finished with a quick game of ten-a-side. T’Challa was goalkeeper for one team, while seventeen-year-old Peter Parker was goalie for the other.

As Natasha watched the game, some things became apparent. Bucky and Steve sensed what the other was doing without any communication, Thor was the best centre back on the team and Brock Rumlow was arrogant, dangerous in tackles and a liability. At the end, the tired players gathered around their head coaches in a huddle. Again, it was Wanda who did the talking.

“Good session, boys. We will see you same time tomorrow. Light work in the morning, gym and tactics after lunch. Go hit the showers and go home,” she said, clapping her heads as she finished her sentence. The boys turned around and headed for the dressing rooms, except for a handful of players who grabbed a few footballs for extra training. The goalkeeping coach stayed behind to help the new kid, Peter Parker. Steve and Bucky lingered to practice free kicks against Parker, while Clint and Tony placed small training cones on the wooden sideboards that lined the pitch and tried to hit the cones with long, airborne passes. Wanda went to her own office to get changed and to use the coaches’ showers. The other coaches went about their business. The sun was beginning to be obstructed as clouds began to roll in, fortunately no rain arrived and the sky was tinged pink as evening approached.

Natasha spotted a stray football and began toying with it with her feet, a sly smile on her face. She flicked it up and began doing keepie-uppies as a breeze blew in. Natasha lost any sense of time and place as she attempted different tricks, she never even noticed the figure behind her as it approached.

“You’re pretty good,” the male voice said. Natasha jumped, dropping the ball. She whipped around, clutching her chest, steely glare ready. She was met by the chest of Steve Rogers, the forward towered over her. Natasha craned her neck to look at his face.

“Christ! What the- What’re you doing?!” she demanded. Rogers struggled to control a smirk initially but recovered his composure.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t intend on scaring you,” he replied. Natasha smirked.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said. Steve laughed, his large features lit up with a smile. Natasha scrutinised his face for a few seconds, before Steve spoke.

“I just wanted to introduce myself, y’know, formally…” he said. He held out a large right hand. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“I know,” Natasha replied. Steve noticed that her hand was soft and seemed very small as they shook. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. But I’m gonna guess you may have known that already.”

Steve laughed and Natasha noticed the way his blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.  Suddenly, Bucky called out across the field.

“Steve, c’mon! Get your ass over here!” Barnes yelled. Natasha smirked and made a show of moving out of his way. Steve blushed and stuttered an apology.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said quickly before ducking his head and jogging toward his best friend. He couldn’t help but notice the good looks possessed by the new manager, or the way her eyes twinkled when she smirked. His thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, when a ball hit the back of his head with force and caused him to stumble. He whirled around as his teammates burst out in uncontrollable laughter. The only person that had been standing in the direction the ball had come from was now walking toward the main complex, red hair ponytail bouncing as she walked.

* * *

“So, you want to play with three attackers and midfielders, and four defenders…?” Wanda asked from where she sat on the grey couch in Natasha’s office. Natasha had wheeled a small whiteboard in front of the couch and was drawing all kinds of tactics with noughts and crosses littered across the white surface. Natasha nodded.

“Pietro on the left, Barnes on the right and Rogers through the middle. It’s where all three are most effective. Pietro’s speed can devastate and Barnes is more than capable at both crossing and cutting inside to shoot. Rogers is the best goal scorer we’ve got,” she stated. Wanda inclined her head in deep thought.

“And I’m guessing Barton, Stark and Rhodes in midfield?” she said. Natasha smiled and pointed her marker at Wanda.

“Dead on. I want quick and accurate short passes. Moving all the time.”

Wanda smiled before frowning suddenly. “What about defence?”

Natasha sighed and scratched the back of her neck with the marker. “That’s more of a problem. I mean, it has got to be Peter Quill and Sam at left and right back respectively, and Thor at centre back but who should partner him?”

Wanda stood up and stretched her back. Natasha had left her profiles on the couch and Wanda picked up and flicked through two.

“We’ve always partnered Thor with Rumlow,” she said. “Banner’s just injury prone, he’s kind of a risk.”

“And Rumlow’s a liability. I’ve seen videos and even him in training today, he could have injured Stark seriously today,” Natasha replied. Wanda sighed heavily through her nose and clenched her jaw.

“I just think we should give Banner a shot, couple games at the start of the season, Rumlow can play cup games,” Romanoff said. Wanda bit her bottom lip and titled her head.

“Okay, you’re the boss…” she replied. Wanda sat back down, crossing her legs. “Can we at least agree on a ‘keeper?”

“I don’t know, I mean that Parker kid is improving already,” Natasha joked, smirking. Wanda rolled her eyes and gave an easy smile. She pointed her finger at Natasha.

“I will smack you with that whiteboard,” Wanda threatened through an exasperated smile. Natasha laughed, setting down her marker on the whiteboard. She sighed and walked over to her desk, she glanced out the window at the slowly setting sun. Natasha turned back and leaned against her desk. She looked up at the ceiling and chuckled.

“I think this is gonna be a fun season,” she said. Wanda laughed and stifled a yawn.

“Here’s hoping,” Wanda replied. She stood up once more and gathered her things. “I am going home now, I will see you tomorrow, Natasha. Are you coming?”

Natasha shook her head, “Nah, I got some things I gotta figure out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wanda shrugged and hefted her bag onto her shoulder and left.

A little while later, Natasha was finally ready to go back to her hotel. She locked her office door and was looking forward to a quiet journey home when she was met by the sight of something most sportspeople dreaded – a journalist. The journalist was a girl around Natasha’s age but much taller and she spotted Natasha as the redhead made a beeline for her car.

“Ms. Romanoff!” she called. “Ms. Romanoff, if I could please have a second of your time! How do you intend to turn the tide of this club’s fortunes!” The journalist half-ran half-walked toward Natasha, who moved just as fast toward her hire car. She didn’t respond as she climbed inside.

“Hey, c’mon! Please! It’ll just take a second!” the journalist yelled. Natasha ignored her and sped past, very nearly rolling over the journalist’s foot. The journalist swore and ran a hand through brown hair.

“Freaking managers….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this has been so awesome! I posted this on FF.net and got virtually no response! You guys are awesome...


	4. The First Match

** The Beautiful Game **

_ I own nothing but fake team, the plot and original characters _

* * *

 

 _“Hello and welcome to our first_ Matchday Live _of the season! The summer’s almost out, the players are back from holiday and the new managers have joined. We have five-yes, five! - games for you today, including the much-anticipated inaugural match of rookie coach Natasha Romanoff and the Washington Eagles. Lots to look at and consider today as we gear up for a new season of drama and controversy. Ecstasy and agony. We’ll have pre-match analysis from all our experts after this short break. Don’t go anywhere…”_

The television of Steve and Bucky’s shared house boomed from the living and echoed around the house. Bucky threw his boots into his bag as the sports anchor spoke from behind his desk on the television. It was the first game of the season and Bucky could feel the knot of nerves in his stomach as he hefted his bag onto his shoulder. Bucky turned off the T.V. and grabbed his suit jacket from the couch. It was customary for the team to wear their club-issued suits for pre-game lunches until they togged out into their tracksuits and kits for the game. Bucky looked at his watch and sighed as he checked his phone. They were travelling to the team hotel with Tony and Rhodey, once they were at the hotel the team would eat lunch and then the team bus would take them to the Eagles’ stadium in the centre of the city. Bucky heard the sudden, brash sound of Tony’s car horn.

“Steve, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up!” he yelled from the foot of the stairs. He heard a grunt in response and opened the brown oak door. After a few seconds, Steve appeared at top step with his own bag in hand. He raced down the stairs and out the front door. Bucky locked the door and the two men bundled into the backseat of Stark’s black Audi.

The four men greeted each other as Steve and Bucky clambered in. Tony revved the engine and glanced at the backseat in his rear-view mirror.

“Ready to win this league?” he asked. Steve and Rhodey rolled their eyes as Bucky laughed.

“Hell, yeah!” he replied as they pulled away from the kerb. Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Well, aren’t you two awfully confident?” he said, laughing. Rhodey turned in his seat to look at Stark, Barnes and Rogers.

“Didn’t coach say promotion was our priority?” Rhodey said sceptically. Tony shrugged as they turned right.

“We win this league, we get promoted automatically. Duh,” he stated. Rhodes sighed.

“Can’t we just concentrate on today?” Steve asked, gazing out the window. Tony huffed as they reached a red traffic light.

“Whatever, I just hope Barton doesn’t get distracted by something shiny or some crap,” Stark grumbled. Rhodey tutted.

“He’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ll be there to cover. Who knows? Maybe you’ll start defending,” he joked. Stark narrowed his eyes.

“You’re so lucky I’m driving right now…”

Stark’s threat was met by laughter.

* * *

They arrived at the hotel around the same time as the other players. It was a tall, elegant structure that dominated much of the skyline of the area. It was also owned by Tony’s family. The Starks owned a chain of hotels across the globe and had Howard Stark originally cast his son out when Tony announced that he saw his future in soccer, rather than enterprise. However, Tony and his father reconciled not long after Tony signed his first professional contract with a Major League Soccer club.

Tony parked in the underground car park and the men filed out of the car. They made their way to the dining room upstairs to meet their teammates. Thor was the first person to be seen, purely due to the reason that he was taller than everyone else in the room. There were twenty players in total in the room, along with other members of staff, such as team doctors and a press officer. The players had been named on the team sheet the previous day and there was sense of eager anticipation in the room as the men awaited the final announcement of the starting eleven.

Clint, T’Challa and a few others were sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Barton was busily attempting to do up his tie before huffing and stuffing the garment into his pocket. Steve chuckled as he sat down opposite T’Challa.

“Still working on tying a knot?” he asked. Clint scowled and stuck out his tongue, leaning back on his chair. Pietro was walking past and could not help but hook his foot under the chair and tilted it back. Clint tumbled backwards, leaving the others in stitches. He struggled to regain his composure as he sprang back to his feet.

“That’s fine. I’ll remember this when I gotta choose between passing to you and taking the shot, Maximoff!” he yelled. Wanda materialised at his side, the men stifled their laughter as Clint sighed.

“You called?” she asked innocently. Clint jumped slightly, making it more difficult for his friends to keep straight faces. Wanda gave them all a stern, silencing look.

“N-no, ma’am. I was referring t-to your bro… I mean, Pietro,” he stuttered, fidgeting with his sleeves. Wanda folded her arms and looked Clint up and down. Steve thought he saw the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

“Tuck in that shirt and stand up straight. Where’s your tie?” she asked. Clint struggled to speak as he felt his throat seize up.

“He couldn’t put it on,” Tony said, smugly. Wanda whirled around to face the table. The men sitting there gulped.

“And none of you brainiacs helped him?” she asked, eyebrows raised. She pointed at Steve.

“You, Rogers. Help Barton with his tie. I want you all to look respectable. The manager is almost here.” Just as Wanda finished her command, Romanoff appeared at the doors. She wore a navy pantsuit with the club crest embroidered on the blazer and had a brown leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders.

A hush seemed to fall over the usually boisterous men as she walked in. Wanda jumped slightly and swallowed as she joined Natasha. Steve watched as they spoke to each other before the bell went for food. There was a long line of tables that were pushed together to make one monstrous table. Natasha took her place at the head of the table and Wanda sat beside her while another coach, Coulson, sat opposite Wanda. The men and other staff filled the remaining places.

After everyone had eaten, Romanoff stood up. She held a small slip of paper in her hand and cleared her throat. Everyone turned to look at the manager. She gazed out with a stony expression.

“Hello everyone,” Natasha began. “Now that we’ve all been fed, I think it’s a good time to announce the starters for the match against Hyde United.” An anxious laugh rippled down the table. Natasha looked at the slip of paper.

“In goal, we got T’Challa.”

T’Challa eased back into his chair, his arm confidently strung over the back of Clint’s chair. Natasha glanced around.

“Odinson and Banner, you two are playing in central defence. Wilson and Quill, you’re full backs. Left and right, respectively.”

Clint shifted in his seat and looked down the table. Thor seemed pleased, as did Bruce Banner who struggled with injuries in past seasons. Brock Rumlow, however, was seething. He glared at Romanoff with fury in dark eyes. Natasha remained as collected as ever as she named the rest of the team sheet.

“Stark, Rhodes, Barton. You three are the midfield. Same formation as training. Tony, you’re attacking. James, Clint, you guys are deeper, more defensive.”

Clint finally relaxed when he heard his name being called. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

“Rogers, you’re playing striker. Barnes, Maximoff, you two are on the right and left wings. Finally, the substitutes are Parker, Rumlow, Lang, Campbell, Fitz and Rollins.” Natasha leaned forward onto the table. She took a few seconds to recount the speech she came up with the night before as a member of hotel staff wheeled in a small whiteboard with the team’s formation drawn on with black marker. Natasha took a deep breath before assuming her full height and clearing her throat to regain the attention of the group.

“So, here it is,” she began, glancing around. “This is day one, we start as we mean to go on. Last season is in the past, leave it there. Today is the beginning of what is going to be a tough, exhausting slog. But it’s gonna be worth it, y’know why?”

Natasha looked around.

“We’re winning this league,” Tony declared from where he sat at the end of the table. There was a somewhat nervous atmosphere that settled among the players as no one could decide whether to laugh, cheer or remain silent. Natasha’s laugh broke the uneasy silence and the men joined in after a muted sigh of relief.

“That’s the right idea, Stark. This club has been stuck in the doldrums for too long! This is our time, your time! So, don’t goddamn waste it! Fight with everything you have. Be the great players I know you are… Give the fans something they can sing for!” Natasha urged finally. She let her words hang in the air as she paused for breath and glanced around at the enthralled faces. She let a smirk grace her features.

“A win will go a long way, boys.”

* * *

 

_“Well, folks, it’s that time of the year again. You’re here today with me, Andy Goodison, and my co-commentator Clive Wilton. The Second Division kicks off today and we are in the gantry at Lieber Park to bring you all the action from the match between new-look Washington and promotion favourites Hyde. So, Clive, who do you fancy for the win today? The Eagles or the Hydras?”_

_“That’s a good question Andy. It’s got to be the Hydras for me. The Eagles are still adapting under their new manager. Hyde are always promotion favourites, but this year feels right, not only because of all the new players they brought in. I’m going to say a convincing two-nil Hyde United win.”_

_“Our expert say it will be two-nil. Let’s see it Washington have anything to say about that. Their captain, Steve rogers is placing the ball on the centre spot and the referee is about to blow his whistle to start what is sure to be an exciting game.”_

The small stadium could seat a little over 8,000. Steve could hear each voice ringing out in the near capacity park as he pressed the ball onto the white spot. He barely heard the shrill sound of the whistle as the brash noise announced the beginning of the game. Rogers passed the ball backwards to Clint and the season began.

Hyde United pressed high up the pitch, putting immense pressure on Washington’s midfield and defence and frustrating the attackers. Tony was caught in possession several times and was subject to many heavy tackles from Hydra defenders. On one such occasion Grant Ward slammed into Stark from behind, prompting Tony to turn furiously on his opponent. Rhodey and Bruce pulled their teammate back before the referee took any action but the tension has beginning to simmer. Thor and his defence endured an onslaught of attacks after Pietro was tackled while trying to create a scoring opportunity.

Eventually, just on the stroke of half-time, Washington managed to create an attack of their own. T’Challa passed the ball to Sam from a goal kick. Wilson jogged forward before playing the ball to Barton as a Hyde attacker was baring down on him. Clint received the ball and spun deftly out of another of Ward’s reckless challenges. He looked up for any options and spotted Bucky in space on the right side of the Hydras’ half. Clint sent a point-perfect pass soaring toward Barnes. Bucky controlled it with his chest and looked around him. He smirked inwardly as he saw three men in red and black jerseys coming to close him down. Bucky flicked the ball over the first’s head using his heel, he nutmegged the second man and fooled the third into going the wrong way with a dummy pass. Bucky looked up and spotted Steve sprinting into the penalty box parallel to Bucky. He crossed the ball and watched as it fizzed through the air. Natasha watched in anticipation, praying for Steve to score.

Rogers used his forward momentum to propel himself into the air. This, along with his great height, allowed him to reach the ball before his opponent. Using his head, he steered the ball past the goalkeeper and into the net. Steve stumbled as he landed again but stayed upright as he ran toward Bucky in the corner. Steve punched the air as he and Bucky celebrated with the fans. Some other teammates joined them, jumping on their backs. Unfortunately, Pietro overshot his leap as he aimed for the group and went flying into the stand, much to the delight of the fans who caught him. The crowd were so loud now that the stadium filled with a thunder-like noise. Steve peeled himself away from his peers and saluted the crowd as they cheered.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Wanda tried to keep their celebrations muted but Natasha couldn’t help but jump in the air, cheering slightly when Steve’s header went in. Wanda was forced to hide her face when Pietro soared quite gracefully into the crowd to prevent the numerous cameras dotted around the ground from picking up her giggles.

After a few seconds, the referee blew for half-time. The players jogged off the pitch and into the dressing rooms. Both Wanda and Natasha spoke, both stressing the same thing. They implored the team against complacency. The Hydras were known for comebacks and Steve knew that the Eagles were going to be bombarded with attacks. The teams were back on the pitch fifteen minutes later. Tony felt cold droplets of water falling onto his skin and glanced upward at the approaching grey clouds.

Steve was right. Time after time, Hyde United attacked them. Thor and Bruce were working hard to keep track of Grant Ward and Johann Schmidt but the Eagles were forced to rely on T’Challa’s goalkeeping far too often for Natasha’s liking. Pietro and Bucky were growing frustrated as Clint and Rhodey needed to spend most of their time looking after their defensive duties, choosing to pass the ball to the defenders rather than to the attackers. Steve was forced to run deep to retrieve the ball and turned around to launch an attack, only to be tackled by Hyde’s Schmidt-the man the fans called _‘Red Skull’_ due to the dark red mask he wore to protect his eternally broken nose. Rogers and Schmidt hated each other and often jostled for different awards, with Steve regularly losing out as he did in that moment.

Red Skull passed the ball off before Steve could even get back on his feet. Sitwell received the ball and played it back to Schmidt as Quill ran to close him down. Quill’s movement left a hole in the defence, allowing Red Skull to get into the penalty box from the left side. He looked up once before shooting at goal. The strike was powerful and low, making T’Challa’s job a whole lot more difficult. The goalie dived but only felt the ball graze his fingertips as it fizzed into the goal.

The Eagles’ hearts all sank. T’Challa sat dejectedly on the now wet ground, arms resting his knees. Clint booted a lump grass into the air in frustrating. Steve watched as the Hydras celebrated their equaliser, hands on his hips. Rogers felt his anger levels rising as he watched Schmidt raise his right hand to his forehead and salute him in a mocking imitation of Steve’s trademark celebration. Thor picked the ball out of the goals and punted it up to Bucky who caught it and quickly took the restart.

Natasha and Wanda stood on the touchline, debating tactics. Wanda recommended bringing on a defender to prevent any more goals.

“We bring on Rumlow and we invite attack,” Natasha said. Wanda sighed.

“If we don’t, we could concede anyway. The players are tired, the team needs energy,” Wanda argued. Natasha bit her bottom lip.

“I know,” she conceded. She saw Steve glance at the dugout as one of his shots narrowly missed. He caught her eye and held her gaze for a few seconds. Natasha sensed his frustration and motioned with her hand to calm down before nodding curtly and returning to her conversation.

“Get Rumlow ready, bring Quill off. Go three at the back, tell Wilson and Rhodes to move to the wings and let Barton and Stark go central together,” Romanoff ordered. Wanda considered the commands for a moment before nodding and leaving to carry them out. With only a handful of minutes remaining Natasha knew the importance of her every decision and was aware of how she was going to be scrutinised.

Back on the pitch, tempers were beginning to flare. Clint and been about to release Pietro into space when a Hyde player had clipped his heel, sending him sprawling. Barton and the player then became involved in a scuffle. Tony ran to provide back up for Clint. Rhodey and Bruce pulled their colleagues away but not before the referee issued a yellow warning card to all involved. Washington were awarded the free kick on the halfway line. The substitution was made in the brief pause before the kick was taken and Rumlow relayed Natasha’s orders to the others.

With the rain now pouring from the heavens. T’Challa sprinted up from his goal to take the kick, waving his arms frantically to get every Washington player up the field. The ‘keeper ignored Clint’s protests and commanded Barton to join the other player where they crowded around the penalty box. The goalie sent in quite a good cross. It was met by a Hyde player’s head in the air but the ball bounced perfectly for Tony, who stood just outside the box. Without even looking up, Tony reeled back his left foot and blasted the ball with the laces of his boot. Time seemed to move in slow motion as the ball flew through the air. Stark had struck it perfectly. It soared toward the goal and looked to be too high before it dipped under the crossbar.

Tony wheeled off, cheering as his team trailed behind him. The delight on his face matched the ecstasy of the crowd. Stark slid on his knees and came to a stop just in front of the Eagles fans. Clint and Rhodey reached him first and bowled him over as they joined him. Soon, Tony was buried under a sea of bodies as the thunderous noise of the spectators returned to the stadium once more as they cheered Tony’s name.

The Eagles defended for their lives for the last few minutes. Steve and the offense dropped back to help and Tony joined Clint in flying into tackles. Eventually, the referee signalled the end of ninety minutes. Several players doubled over in exhaustion and relief. Natasha quickly shook the hand of Hyde United’s manager before joining her players on the pitch. She clapped them on the back and pulled several to their feet, including Rhodey and Stark. Natasha gathered all her players and walked over to the stand behind T’Challa’s goals. Together, they applauded the supporters. Many of the boys threw an arm around Natasha before leaving for the showers. However, journalists were waiting to grab someone for an interview in the tunnel. 

Clint and Tony were nabbed by the prestigious _Cloud Sport_ broadcaster which also awarded the Man of the Match medal. Tony was being honoured for his performance with the award.

“Tony, Clint. Congratulations on the hard-fought win today. It must have been exhausting, especially in this weather,” the female journalist said into her microphone.

“Thank you, it was extremely tiring. But we never gave up. We knew we couldn’t afford to drop any points and, of course, no one wants to let the coach down first day out,” Clint replied. The reporter nodded and smiled politely at Clint’s standard answer. She shifted from foot to foot, her cheeks and nose red with the cold. She turned to Stark.

“Tony your goal was fantastic. Can you walk us through what you were thinking?”

Stark adopted the smile he used for all cameras. An easy smirk graced his handsome features as he cleared his throat.

“I don’t think you can call it _thinking_ , it’s more like instinct. Ball comes down and I just…know. Y’know? I gotta take the shot. Sometimes your team just needs a little magic,” Tony disclosed, still giving the reporter his smouldering look. Clint rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.

“And an asshole, apparently.”

Unfortunately, Tony heard him. His expression changed to one of shock.

“You can’t call me an asshole on live T.V., asshole!” he exclaimed. Clint clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Oops!” He turned to the reporter. “Can I say ‘asshole’ on this show?”

“You can’t ask her if you can call someone an asshole!” Tony said, aghast. Clint was turning gradually more pink by the second.

“Well, can I call someone an asshole?” he asked. Tony shook his head violently.

“Why are you asking me if you can call someone an asshole?!” he yelled.

“Because I want to know if I can say- “

Tony cut him off. “STOP SAYING ASSHOLE!”

Both men froze and slowly turned back toward the bemused reporter whose mouth hung slightly open. They adopted angelic smiles.

“C-congratulations, Tony. You’ve won Man of the Match. Clint, can you do the honours?” She pushed the polished medal into Clint’s hand. Clint quickly hung it around Stark’s neck.

“Thank you,” both replied.

“Goodbye,” the reporter answered as she and the cameraman shuffled away.

Clint and Tony sighed.

“That was a close call,” Clint sighed. Tony glared at him before walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the first match! Let me know what you think and tell me if there is too much detail.


	5. The Car and the Video Game

**The Beautiful Game**

**Chapter 5: The Car and the Video Game**

_I own nothing but fake team, the plot and original characters_

* * *

After the game, everyone met up at the hotel to decide on where they were going to celebrate the victory. Natasha was going to Pepper's, planning to put a dent in Pepper's extensive wine collection. Wanda was sitting at the hotel bar, chatting with one of the team doctors when Pietro came sidling up to her.

"Hey," he greeted. Wanda nodded before responding.

"How's your ass?" she asked with a smirk playing on her lips. Pietro sighed with a smile as his ears went red.

"It's been two hours and there's already memes…" Pietro grumbled. Wanda laughed, the doctor smiled and said goodbye. Pietro waved and waited for him to be out of earshot before he spoke.

"Ha-ha. You're all alone!" he teased, pointing his finger. Wanda raised an eyebrow and grabbed his finger.

"You realise that you are still beside me, right?" she smirked, releasing his finger. Pietro winced and massaged his hand. He cleared his throat and hastily put his hand down by his side when he spotted several of his teammates laughing at the exchange between the twins.

"So, anyway. Some of the guys were wondering if you would like to come with us tonight. We are going to Wilson's place. What do you say?"

Wanda was sceptical and Pietro sensed it. However, he also sensed how stressed she had been lately and he was eager for Wanda to enjoy herself for a brief while.

"Please?" he begged, giving his sister his best impression of a puppy. Wanda sighed heavily, weighing up her options in her head. Eventually, she decided that it might not be the worst idea to get to know some of the boys. Wanda being the assistant coach meant that she could afford to been more casual with the players.

"Alright," she replied. Pietro beamed and turned around to his friends to give them a not-so-subtle thumbs up.

The small group that had gathered by the side of room cheered, prompting Wanda to laugh. The group motioned for the twins to join them as they began to leave the room.

* * *

Natasha had been preparing to leave when she ran into someone in the hotel parking lot. Literally. She was walking toward her car when she suddenly collided with another person. A much bigger person. With blonde hair.

She stumbled backwards but felt a pair of hands grasp her forearms to steady her. Natasha raised her head to see a familiar face.

"Sorry, ma'am," Steve apologised with a small smile. "I didn't see you there." Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"Was that supposed to be a _'short'_ joke?" she asked sceptically. Steve's ears tinged with pink as he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"N-no, ma'am. I w-was just waiting f-for a taxi" he stuttered awkwardly. Natasha could not keep the smirk from her lips and Steve noticed the passing mischievous gleam in her eyes. The jovial twinkle in her eyes put Steve at ease while gave him a strange feeling in his stomach. Natasha held his gaze for a beat before glancing down and motioning in front of her. Steve realised that he was in the way and leapt back.

"Sorry," he blurted, scratching his neck. Natasha breezed past him to a sleek, black vintage car where she plopped her bag onto the roof. Steve turned around to face her and whistled, prompting Natasha to pause as she opened the door, eyebrow raised.

"Your car. 1977 Chevy Corvette, good taste…" he complimented, folding his arms. Natasha smiled crookedly.

"So, you like her, huh?" she asked, her head tilted slightly to the side with a playful grin on her face. Steve nodded, impressed with the shining paint job and general look of the car. Natasha chuckled and was about to sit into the driver's seat before a voice in the back of her head suggested something else. "Wanna come for a spin? Cheaper fares than a cab…" she offered, climbing back out of the car.

Steve had turned his back to Natasha and her Corvette but whirled around with a sheepish smile. He glanced at Natasha then back at the vacant taxi rank and fidgeted with the strap of his gear bag. Suddenly, he turned toward the beautiful car and began walking toward it.

"Oh yeah, how much is it gonna cost me?" he asked with a smirk, opening the passenger side door.

* * *

Wanda wondered if the anguished cries of her players could be heard by the neighbours as she scored yet another goal with Borussia Dortmund. Pietro leapt up and flung his PlayStation controller onto the cushions of the sofa. The players often held FIFA tournaments throughout the season where they split into two teams and kept score of who won the most matches. Sam was the captain of one team while Bucky led another. The Maximoffs competed on the couch while the other players watched. Wanda leaned back into the couch and laughed at Pietro's indignation. He swore in Sokovian only for Wanda to reply to him quickly in the same language. The rest of the boys laughed at the expression on Pietro's face.

"Damn, I think I drafted the wrong Maximoff," Sam chuckled. Pietro turned on his heel and scowled. Bucky smirked from where he was leaning against the doorjamb.

"Snooze you lose, Wilson. They're called 'hidden' gems for a reason," he stressed with a lopsided smirk. Wanda knelt on the couch and folded her arms on the backrest as the others laughed and agreed. Barnes caught her eye as Bruce took note of the score on his clipboard and raised his beer bottle toward her. Wanda smiled and saluted him with a wink.

After a few more games, Wanda went to get a soda. She elbowed her way to the kitchen and located the fridge. She turned around to see Bucky queueing behind her and promptly moved out of the way. Wanda hopped onto the counter to sit down. Bucky peeked at her from around the fridge door.

"So, do you bring Pietro to tears often when you're playing video games?" he asked, leaning back and resting his elbows on the kitchen island. Wanda laughed.

"More often than you might think," she replied, sipping her drink. Bucky chuckled and scratched his unshaven chin. Wanda smirked at him from behind her can.

"So, I am a 'hidden gem' _,_ huh?" she teased. Bucky smiled easily, unaffected by her taunting.

"Yes, you are," he confirmed with a wink. Wanda set down her drink after taking another sip.

"Careful Barnes, someone might think you are trying to charm your way into a starting spot," she warned, pointing her finger. Bucky held his hands up. "Now, who would think something like that?"

Wanda chuckled in response before quickly slipping off of the counter.

"Pietro!" she yelled. Her brother glanced over his shoulder for second before returning his attention to his game against Tony. "I am leaving, you are coming?"

She could just make out his silver hair as he shook his head. She sighed and hollered a goodnight at him and he responded similarly. Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother as she looked around for her bag only to spin around and see Bucky holding it toward her.

"Can I walk ya home?" he asked with his confident yet subtle smile. Wanda smiled crookedly and nodded, knowing she lived a good fifteen minutes away. They left the house and began chatting as they walked along the path.

"What has you so gentleman-like?" Wanda asked, her accent more prominent when she was tired. Barnes sighed a laugh.

"I wanted quiet. After the noise of a game, and then the guys… It gets tiring, draining," he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Wanda began playing an invisible violin. Bucky raised his eyebrows and chuckled, bumping her with his shoulder. She stopped and bumped him back. They walked in silence for a few seconds before anyone spoke again.

"You played well today, Barnes," Wanda said, glancing up at him. Bucky looked down and nodded appreciatively. Suddenly, Wanda stopped walking.

"This is me. I hope I don't regret showing you where I live," she joked. Bucky laughed.  
"I hope so too," he replied. They smiled at each other before Wanda turned and started up the stairs to her and Pietro's shared house. She paused just as she unlocked the door and turned back to Bucky briefly.

"Goodnight, Barnes," she said in her quiet way. Bucky smiled. "Goodnight, ma'am," he responded before starting on his way back to Sam's, once Wanda had gone inside and locked the door.

* * *

 

Natasha couldn't resist revving the engine a little as she and Steve drove through the night. She noticed him smiling as he ran his hands over the leather interior.

"I gotta get one of these," he gushed. Natasha laughed.

"It'd be one fun birthday present, that's for sure," she said, turning left. Steve glanced over at Natasha and smiled.

"So, where'd you get this one?" he asked. Natasha smirked slyly.

"Won her in a game of chicken," she informed him. Steve laughed at first before he realised she was serious.

"Really?" he inquired, amazed. Natasha glanced at him with the smirk still playing on her lips.

"I don't flinch easy…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry I'm late! I was really busy but I hope you enjoy this chapter. The feedback has been so amazing, let's keep that going!  
> Thanks people!! :)


	6. The Second Yellow

Natasha stood at the top of the analysis room, the television resting on a stand beside her showed clips from their next opponent’s previous game.

“Xavier Athletic are happy to play defensive, let their opponents have possession and then hit back on a counter-attack. One of their major players, James Logan Howlett, is nicknamed _The Wolverine_ , he’s your quintessential box-to-box midfielder. Thor and Rhodes, I want you both to stick to him when he’s in your zone,” she ordered. Thor and Rhodey sat straighter in their seats and nodded at each other.

“Howlett’s hot-headed,” Natasha began. Clint snorted. “Well that’s an understatement,” he interrupted, prompting Natasha to scowl. Wanda was standing beside where he sat and raised her hand mockingly as if she was about to backhand him, much to the amusement of the others.

“I hate to play this way, but we need boys to annoy him and get him booked. Pietro and Tony, it your time to shine!” she said with a smile. Tony stood up and bowed as the room erupted into applause and laughter. Natasha held her hand up for silence and a hush fell upon the room.

“Their defence is slow and leave gaps so you three…” Natasha motioned at Bucky, Pietro and Steve. “Should have a field day.”

Natasha glanced at Wanda and a look of apprehension passed over her green eyes for less than a second before Wanda nodded and Natasha returned her gaze to the team.

“Tomorrow is our first away game of the season. Xavier fans are a noisy bunch but that will only make silencing them that bit sweeter. We need to show people that our win against Hyde wasn’t some _fluke_. Concentrate boys! Stick to your positions and stick together!” she yelled, riling the players up. They cheered and hollered, creating quite a racket. Both Wanda and Natasha smiled.

“And just think of the London nightlife you can see if you win!”

That final statement generated an even louder roar from everyone.

* * *

_“Welcome back football fans! We’ve got another cracker for you today as Washington face off against Xavier Athletic in the second game of the season for both clubs. Both teams name identical line-ups to their previous outing so time will tell if the faith of the managers will be repaid…”_

The Eagles had flown down to London the evening before the match and were staying in one of the Stark family hotels. Now they were sitting in the dressing room of the Xavier Athletic stadium, preparing to take the field.

_“Be sure to pay special attention to Steve Rogers of Washington and Scott Summers of Xavier Athletic, who are expected to challenge for the Golden Boot at the end of the season. It’s also worth noting that both teams have one of the best midfields in the league. With kick-off looming, I think it’s time to hand you over to the commentators for the game…”_

Natasha tossed Steve the captain’s armband while the players tied their bootlaces and the physios put the finishing touches on any treatment they were giving. Steve stood up to put on the armband but Natasha quickly helped him to strap it around his bicep.

“I want you to keep an eye on Barton. Howlett is going to try and wind him up, we can’t afford for him to get suspended,” she whispered into his ear. Steve glanced over at where Clint was pulling on his boots. He returned his gaze to Natasha’s intense green eyes and nodded solemnly. She acknowledged him before returning to Wanda.

After a few more minutes, Wanda began giving her final brief to the team. Once she was finished, Natasha took over motivational duties.

“I heard the press calling our last win a ‘fluke’. They said it was sheer dumb luck that kept us from losing,” she began, giving the dressing room a long, sweeping look. “Well, I don’t know what match they were watching, because I saw a determined and stubborn performance from a very capable team. I believe in you boys, don’t let any amount of media speculation fool you. If I’ve said this once, I’ve said it a hundred times; I know who have what it takes to gain promotion this season. So, go out there and show the world what you can do!” As she finished her speech, the room became a frenzy with adrenaline-filled players roaring their approval. Wanda tugged open the door and the team poured out into the tunnel.

 

The home team kicked off and Scott Summers played it to the centre back, Hank McCoy. Steve sprinted to close him down but McCoy quickly moved the ball to the left winger, Bobby Drake. Bucky attempted to tackle Drake but the smaller man wriggled free of Barnes’ challenge. Thankfully, Clint was alert and sprinted in to slide tackle Drake before the Washington defence was exposed.

It took almost thirty minutes for the first chance to come about. T’Challa lashed the ball upfield from a goal-kick. Rhodey won the ball in the air and headed it down to Tony, who controlled the ball and held firm against Summers. Tony passed the ball off to Clint.

Barton used his first touch to deftly nudge the ball through Worthington’s legs, prompting the Washington fans to jeer. Clint looked up and spotted Pietro darting up the left-hand side of the pitch. Clint sent a high cross-field ball soaring toward the winger. Pietro used his explosive speed to glide past the defender and leapt toward the ball. He controlled it rather spectacularly with his left foot, guiding it to the ground. As he dribbled forward, Pietro saw that only the goalkeeper was left to beat. Pietro had just dashed into the opposition’s penalty area when the goalkeeper rushed out to meet him. Maximoff quickly decided to fake a shot to avoid the challenging task of lifting the ball over the much taller man.

Pietro reeled his left foot back while moving the ball around the goalie with his right foot. However, just as he was about to round the ‘keeper, he felt a body crash into his legs and sent him sprawling to the turf, landing hard onto his shoulder. The referee’s whistle pierced the air and he pointed at the penalty spot immediately. Within seconds, both sets of players had surrounded the referee with one team calling for more severe punishment for the goalkeeper.

Pietro never saw the red card that was shown to the goalie as he received treatment from the head doctor, Helen Cho. Tony picked up the ball and handed it to Steve who was the designated penalty taker. As the referee waved the protests of Xavier Athletic away, Rogers placed the ball down on the white mark in the middle of the penalty box. He stood apart and waited for the referee to regain control. He glanced over at the touchline and saw both dugouts in two very different states.

The Xavier coaching area was in chaos. The substitute goalkeeper was trying to change into his kit while the assistant coach frantically explained tactics. McCoy hastily put on the goalkeeper shirt and gloves to fill in for the penalty before his team were permitted to use a substitute and substitutes were off the bench and hurling abuse at the referee. Contrastingly, the Eagles’ area was calm to the point of serenity. Natasha stood on the grass in her pantsuit with her blazer open and her hands in her pockets. Wanda sat on her seat with her arms folded and her expression passive.

Natasha met Steve’s gaze and gave a subtle nod, motioning with her hand to stay calm as McCoy took to the field in his ill-fitting shirt and gloves. The referee had finally cleared all remaining defenders and ordered both players to wait for his whistle. Steve took several large steps back from the ball and took a deep breath. The would-be goalkeeper waved his hands dementedly in an attempt to disrupt Steve’s focus. The whistle blew and Steve began his run up. The untrained McCoy leapt to his right far too soon as Rogers coolly slotted the ball into the opposite corner. Steve reeled away to celebrate and was joined by most of his teammates. Bucky leapt onto his back and Steve stood as if he was giving his friend a piggy-back. Several others threw their arms around Steve’s neck as he stopped in front of the travelling fans. Then, he stood up straight and gave his trademark salute as his teammates and fans cheered.

* * *

 

 Washington went into their dressing room at half-time leading and the break gave the doctors a chance to examine Pietro more thoroughly. Nothing too serious was found and Dr Cho simply sprayed his calf with freeze spray and informed him to tell her if it grew more painful.

“Keep this up boys, Xavier are completely disgruntled. You need to score again as soon as possible after this,” Natasha urged, handing out water bottles. “C’mon boys, you were all over their defence before the break. We’re a man up, I want you to use that advantage. Run at the defenders, they’re afraid to tackle now, we need to exploit that.”

Washington came out of half-time determined to score again. Unfortunately, Xavier Athletic were rejuvenated and galvanised from whatever their manager, the aptly named Charles Xavier, had said to them.

In the fiftieth minute, Howlett had possession for the so-called X-Men near to the Washington penalty box. Rhodey marked him tightly but the small, burly man brushed him aside. Thor lunged in with a crunching slide tackle that knocked the ball away from Howlett and into Clint’s path. The Xavier player reacted angrily at the referee’s decision to play on. He shoved Thor, who barely stumbled, and Clint passed the ball off quickly to respond to the Wolverine. The two players squared up to each until Steve and Sam grabbed Clint and yanked him away. The referee reached into his pocket and showed both Howlett and Clint yellow cards. Steve flicked Clint’s ear and tapped his forehead. _Concentrate_.

A few minutes later the X-Men were awarded a free kick on the right side of the penalty area when Tony was judged to have pulled the shirt of an opposition player. Drake sent in a delightful curling cross that was met by a leaping Summers. The header sped toward the net and T’Challa was forced to make a sublime save, diving to his left and stretching his hand as far upwards as possible. He sprang back to his feet and screamed at his defenders to get organised. He commanded the attackers to stay outfield. T’Challa pounced on the resulting corner, spotted Steve at the centre circle and booted the ball toward him. Steve sprinted past the slower defender and sped toward the ball. He controlled it, knocking it in front of him of he dribbled forward at speed. The substitute goalkeeper was inexperienced and indecisive, eventually deciding to charge toward Rogers. He moved much too late and was left stranded helplessly as Steve chipped the ball over the head of the goalie. The ball was inch-perfect and soared just under the crossbar.

The away fans erupted once again and Steve ran with his arms aloft in celebration and was once again mobbed by his teammates. This time, the fans and players saluted in near-perfect synchronisation.

The score was now two-nil and Washington were very much on top for the rest of the game. However, the game was not without its frustrations particularly for Clint. He was constantly badgered by Howlett. On one such occasion Howlett muscled Clint off of the ball, only for Barton to grab Wolverine’s jersey and pull him back. Steve’s stomach dropped and Clint held his head in his hands as realisation dawned on him. The referee immediately called a foul and reached into his pocket. Clint tried to protest as he was shown a second yellow card and, subsequently, a red card. The majority of the stadium jeered and whistled as Clint slowly made his way off the pitch, his head hanging low. The players looked to their manager as Barton slumped off the field. Natasha’s stoic manner was unchanged and she patted Clint’s shoulder as he passed. She tapped her head with her index fingers. _Concentrate_. She turned back to Wanda and motioned at Rumlow to warm-up.

“Who do we take off?” Wanda asked, sharing Natasha’s thoughts. Natasha folded her arms.

“Pietro. I can’t risk him getting another knock. Bring on Rumlow and we can go to a 4-3-2. Push Banner into Clint’s position. We are not letting this go,” she told Wanda. The assistant nodded and made a bee-line for the touchline official.

With little over a half-hour left, Rumlow came on and relayed the instructions. Bruce began to fill in the midfield gap while Bucky dropped back to play behind Steve. Rumlow was a tough tackler but a solid centre back and he and Thor were a formidable partnership. Bruce was a better player with the ball at his feet and was a capable midfielder, though he did not have Clint’s inhuman passing accuracy.

The X-Men threw everything at Washington in the last quarter of the match and T’Challa was forced to collect more crosses and corners. However, Washington did receive one final chance with five minutes left. Once again, T’Challa sent a long kick up to Bucky who dribbled down the wing at speed, beating all his opponents. He approached the goal from the side and cut the ball back to Tony, who had just arrived in the penalty area. Stark struck the ball perfectly and it rifled over the goalie and into the roof of the net. Tony turned and ran to Bucky, whose pass made the shot impossible to miss. He jumped onto Bucky as the others joined them. Steve glanced at Natasha and laughed as she finally showed some emotion. Wanda leapt off her seat as the ball hit the net while Natasha raised her arms in the air and hugged Wanda.

The match finished three-nil. The Washington players celebrated whole-heartedly as Xavier Athletic left the field dejectedly. Once all the post-match interviews were finished (Tony and Clint were under strict orders to stay hidden) Natasha joined her players in the dressing room. As soon as she entered, the room erupted into cheers. She was hugged by the elated players and hoisted onto the shoulders of Thor and Sam.

“Washing-ton, nan na, na na! Washing-ton, na na, na na!” They sang. Well, roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you thought!   
> Thanks for reading!


	7. The Houseboat

After the game, everyone returned to the hotel. Natasha assembled the team in the lobby and let the boys hit the town but called one back.

“Clint,” she said. Barton froze and turned toward her. She folded her arms.

“What happened today,” Natasha began sternly. “Will never happen again. From here on you keep your head. No more red cards, you’re better than that. Am I clear?”

Clint gulped and nodded.

“Good,” she said with a small smile. “Now, go catch up to the others.”

Clint nodded and left to meet his teammates. As he turned onto the street from the hotel, he saw his friends ahead of him. Ever since he had been made to sit in an empty changing room, Clint’s mood had been sour. He felt that he had let everyone down and that he had proved everyone who had faith in him wrong. Clint walked a few more paces before he realised that a crowded nightclub was the last place he wanted to be.

He stopped suddenly, just as his friends broke into laughter in front of him, and turned into the first bar he found. What he found was a typical pub that was quiet enough to carry out a conversation. Clint took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink from the elderly lady behind the bar. There was a television in the corner of the ceiling showing highlights from La Liga (the Spanish League) much to Clint’s relief.  As he sipped his beer, Clint watched the grainy images of Messi, Ronaldo and Griezmann and remembered how he had dreamed of playing for Barcelona when he was a schoolboy. The tiki-taka passing had mesmerised him and still did, although he did have a strong admiration for the attacking mentality of Real Madrid.

There were few patrons in the bar. A small group of older men sat at a table while two similarly aged women sat at the window. Clint also spotted a girl, about his own age, sitting at the top of the bar and typing furiously at a laptop. She wore a weathered leather jacket over a grey hoodie. The girl frequently glanced up at the television and noticed Clint’s gaze. They locked eyes for a brief moment and Clint saw that she had eyes a blueish- green.

After a while, the door to the bar swung open and a group of boisterous, most likely intoxicated, men entered. They were loud, obnoxiously so, and Clint pitied the ageing barmaid but was surprised by how stern she became. He was forced to hide his smirk behind his drink when she refused to serve one of the men unless they ‘pulled up their trousers and realised that the world didn’t need to see their underwear.’ The men looked elsewhere to amuse themselves and, unfortunately, the girl who had been sitting at the bar was their target.

Clint could hear the men pestering the girl- asking for her name, her number and her star sign. Clint made sure to keep an eye on the situation. Suddenly, one man slammed her laptop shut and grabbed her arm when she stood to confront him. Clint leapt to his feet and stormed toward the sleazy group. He grabbed the collar of the man holding the girl’s arm and shoved him back. Clint wasn’t the tallest of his teammates – he stood at just under 6 feet – but he made up for it in strength and spirit. A different man attempted to square up to Barton but Clint grabbed hold of his jacket collar and yanked him forward before pushing him on top of his friend. Both men seemed to struggle to get up before a different man stopped them.

“He’s the lad from today. Got sent off, leave it before he decks ya!” he said, helping his friends up. Clint took half a step forward but the group scurried away and bundled out of the bar. Clint smirked before turning back to the girl. She had sat back on her stool with a dazed expression.

“You alright?” Clint asked gesturing at her arm. She gave a half-smile and nodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied. “I just hope my laptop can say the same.”

Clint was taken aback by both her calm and her strong Irish accent. She lifted the lid of her computer and sighed in relief.

“It’s all good,” she stated. Clint laughed. “You must be writing one good novel,” he said. She looked at him with a small crooked smile.

“An article, actually,” she informed him. “I’m a journalist.”

She saved her writing before closing the document and turned back to Clint.

“I’m Clint,” he said, offering his right hand.

“Jamie Hennessy. But everyone just calls me Hennessy,” she replied, shaking his hand while running her left hand through her brown hair. “Thanks for that, but I had it covered,” Hennessy said. Clint smiled.

“I know that. I just wanted to step in before you knocked him out with a headbutt,” he said. Hennessy smirked. “I was waiting for you to pull his shirt, you seem fond of that move.”

Clint knew that he should have been angry at the red card jibe - and had it been anyone else, he would have been-  but he found himself smiling wryly at the joke.

“There’s always next time,” he stated with a smirk. Hennessy considered him for a moment before smiling and turning back to her laptop. He was about to leave for his own end of the bar when she spoke again.

“If it’s any consolation,” she began, tearing her eyes away from the computer. “Howlett should have been sent off for a high foot on Wilson in the first half. Wolverine almost decapitated him…”

Clint laughed and nodded. “To be fair, the ref didn’t see me elbow Drake when he tried to get the ball back.”

Hennessy smirked slyly. “Well, who ever said football was completely fair?” she asked, returning to her article.

* * *

 

Meanwhile Sam, Pietro, Bucky and the rest had found a popular nightclub. The players found a booth of their own and ordered drinks. Steve, trying to be the responsible adult, made sure to pay attention to what (and how much) they were all having. After a few minutes, most of the team went to socialise. Steve, Bruce and T’Challa were not the nightclub type and so stayed behind talking amongst themselves and kept an eye on their friends.

“I really hope this wasn’t a bad idea,” Steve yelled, fighting to be heard over the loud music. T’Challa laughed.

“As long as no one spills anything on Stark’s Tom Ford suit, I think we are safe,” he said. The others chuckled.

“I think it’s Gucci, actually,” Bruce said as he sipped his drink. Steve and T’Challa both snorted in response.

* * *

Pietro first saw her through the pulsing strobe lights. They streamed through long, dark hair as she danced with a group of other girls. he couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the flashing lights and the way she moved, long curls falling all around her. Suddenly, Peter Quill snapped his fingers in front of Pietro’s eyes, startling the Sokovian.

“What’a ya looking at?” he asked, the others looking at him expectantly. Pietro shrugged and told them he needed a drink.

He was standing at the bar, drumming on the glass countertop with his fingers when he felt someone arrive beside him. Glancing to the side, he did a double take when he glimpsed the same dark waves from earlier. He cleared his throat and looked away quickly, so that he wouldn’t be caught staring. She didn’t seem too bothered by the thought.

“I think I know you from somewhere,” she stated, gazing up at him. Pietro jumped and looked down. He smiled and creased his forehead.

“I play football,” he said. She pursed her lips, which were as red as Hyde United’s jerseys, before shaking her head.

“That’s not it,” she replied. “Were you in a toothpaste commercial?”

Pietro let his mouth hang agape for a moment as he tried to think of a response.

“N-not that I recall,” he said, bewildered. The girl sighed.

“Must’ve been someone else then. Your hair just reminded me of it,” she told him, gesturing at his silver locks. Pietro touched his crown protectively, not really knowing how to proceed. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. She stared at him as if he were insane, but did adopt her own crooked smirk.

Their drinks had arrived by now but she didn’t show any signs of leaving and Pietro was very happy where he was.

“So, you play football. Must be pretty fun,” she said. Pietro inclined his head.

“Lots of pressure but it can be fun. When you take risks,” he explained. The girl smiled brightly at the word ‘risks’. She folded her arms on the bar.

“So, you like risks, huh? Adventures?” she inquired, one chestnut brown eyebrow raised mischievously. Pietro smirked.

“I think so, yes,” he answered. She seemed to sway slightly before she bit her lip turning around. Pietro dropped his smile.

“Where are you going?” he called after her. She whirled around and gestured at him to follow her.

“You said you liked adventures, come on!” she yelled back. Pietro glanced back at the dancefloor where his teammates were now mingling with the girl’s group of friends. He shifted on his feet before glancing back at the girl. Pietro made up his mind and they collected the jackets from the cloakroom and left the club.

The chilled night air was a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the nightclub. The girl grabbed his hand and led him down the street. Pietro walked slightly behind her, only now realising that she was, in fact, very small.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked as she pulled him along the grey pavement. She glanced over her shoulder with a bright smile.

“That’s a surprise, Mr. Footballer,” she replied. They walked for a time, it could have been seconds or hours, all Pietro knew was that even when he had caught up to her quick strides she still held his hand to guide him.

Eventually, they came across a bridge. The girl stopped halfway and pointed across the Thames at a row of houseboats. One was slightly bigger than the others and warm light radiated from its windows. Music could be faintly heard across the water.

“That’s where we’re headed,” she announced. Pietro had precious little time to take in the area fully before she yanked his hand and led him toward the boat. As they approached the boat from the bridge, a figure appeared on the top deck and waved in their direction. The girl waved back and sped up, dragging Pietro behind her.

As they got nearer, Pietro could see people milling around the boat. It was two stories tall and looked as if someone had taken a cabin from a mountainside and dropped it into the middle of London. The girl let go of Pietro’s hand now and rushed down a flight of stone steps to where the boat was moored. Pietro followed her.

The music was louder now, though it was at a more pleasant level than the club, and there was a low hum of people holding conversations without having to shout. The front door, if you could call it that, was circular and wooden. She pushed it open and gestured for Pietro to follow her.

“It’s alright, this place is a bar at night,” she assured him. Pietro smiled and followed her into an open plan kitchen and living room. The interior was much more modern than the exterior suggested. The floor was tiled with a ceramic kitchen island, couches with plush throws and a large television on the left wall. A corridor branched off to the left and several people were sitting and chatting but the girl continued straight through the room and out a set of sliding doors to the deck at the back of the boat.

There was a wooden bar to the side and a few small tables with two chairs placed around the deck. However, most people sat on the beanbags and deck chairs with woollen blankets strewn over their legs. Underfoot, meanwhile, was fake green grass. Pietro smiled at the absurdity of it all while the girl left his side and returned with two small glasses and chocolate bars. She motioned at him to sit down in a beanbag in the corner of the deck, right beside the whitewashed railings. She took the bag nestled into the corner and set the glasses down on a short box provided as a table. Pietro was still grinning as he ran his hand along the fairy lights that were wrapped around the railings.

“What d’you think?” she asked, looking at him expectantly. Pietro turned his gaze to her deep brown eyes.

“It’s…not anything I’ve seen before. It’s…” He searched for the right word. “…Amazing.” She seemed satisfied with his conclusion as she opened her candy bar, throwing him the spare.

“It’s owned by a friend of mine. Erik Selvig. He’s a scientist, or maybe a physicist…Anyway, he owns this houseboat and turned it into a bar for a side business,” she explained as Pietro looked around. His eyes settled on the girl again. The warm glow of the fairy lights cast shadows across her face. Suddenly, realisation dawned on Pietro.

“I do not even know your name,” he admitted. She scoffed.

 “Names are overrated, people put too much stock in them. Trust me, I’m a political science major,” she replied. “But I realise that would be hard to turn into a caller I.D., so you can call me Darcy.” Pietro chuckled and Darcy smiled. She inclined her head.

“What about you? What do they call you, Mr. Footballer?” she queried. Pietro opened his chocolate bar.

“Well, the fans started calling me ‘Quicksilver’ but-” Pietro had begun telling her who he was when she cut him off.

“Wait, _Quicksilver_?! Why that?” she asked excitedly, sitting further forward. Pietro laughed and gestured at his dyed hair, Darcy nodded.

“And I’m fast,” he informed her, pretending to run on the spot while sitting down. Darcy giggled.

“So, _Quicksilver_ , who do you play for?” she questioned, easing back into her seat as she took a bite of her bar. Pietro did the same and sat back.

“Washington Eagles. Near Sunderland,” he said. Darcy’s smile faded slightly.

“Sunderland? That’s…far,” she stated. Pietro’s stomach dropped as her realized that, after tonight, he may never see Darcy again. He had known her for only a handful of hours but he railed against the thought. Neither of them spoke for several seconds until Darcy reached out.

“Gimme your phone,” she demanded. He unlocked the iPhone and handed it over. Darcy punched in her number and gave him his phone back. As he was about to tuck the phone back into his jacket pocket, he noticed the late time and several missed calls. He hadn’t known his phone was on silent and quickly turned the sound back on. Pietro looked at Darcy again. His expression must have betrayed him as she gave a sad smile.

“You gotta go, don’t you?” she only half-asked. Pietro nodded and she stood up, he followed her to his feet. They made their way through the boat and back out to the stone steps. His mind raced as he tried to find a solution. He couldn’t just forget about Darcy. The thought just felt wrong.

“There are tons of London teams in the league. Plus, everyone plays twice in a season. We will be back,” he assured her as they reached the pavement. Darcy stopped and craned her neck to look at him.

“I’ll be here. Same time, same place. Let me know when you guys are down here,” she said. Pietro promised and they stood in the cold for a few seconds, just looking in the other’s eyes. He stooped down as Darcy stood on her tiptoes. Their lips brushed for only a second before a shrill ringtone pierced the air around them. Darcy gave a small sigh and smiled.

“Okay, now you really have to go,” she told him, laughing. Pietro grinned.

She called him an Über to help him get back to the team hotel sooner. However, their lack of time did not prevent her from standing on her tiptoes once more to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Pietro turned to see her but she had already returned inside. He sat into the car and let his fingers drift to the place on his cheek where her red lipstick had left a stain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Darcy! Fun! Houseboat!  
> So, this chapter is a little different without much Natasha or Steve but please tell me what you think!


	8. The Meeting

Five games into the season and Washington were unbeaten, having won four and drawn one match. Their success left the Eagles at the top of the league table with a cushion of three points protecting them from second placed Hyde United. The success also led to a surge in the substantial scrutiny Natasha was already under. Papers were clamouring for ‘exclusive’ interviews and tabloids and celebrity websites were examining her matchday outfits. Natasha simply attended the press conferences and smiled for photographs on the club website. apart from those, she avoided journalists – always opting to keep quiet. This led to her being branded as ‘elusive’ and ‘mysterious’. However, Natasha’s tactics also led to her garnering another nickname. She encouraged her team to stay calm and allow the other team to have possession which tended to lull the opposition into a sense of security, only for her players to score on a quick counter attack and go on to win the match. Both the papers and fans began to refer to her as the ‘Black Widow’, much to Pepper’s amusement.

“It makes you sound like a murderer,” she said as she reclined on Natasha’s bed. Natasha rolled her eyes as she unpacked one of the boxes in her bedroom. She had been swamped with work since moving into the house the club provided and had seized the international break as an opportunity to finally settle in. Pepper had offered to help but took up a more ‘supervising’ role.

“ _The Black Widow_ \- It’s not as if you’re murdering the other team right after-“

Natasha interrupted her friend and agent. “I think it’s more of a metaphorical thing,” she replied, laughing. Pepper giggled and propped herself up on her elbows as she flicked through the articles on her tablet.

“So, what were the results of the internationals again?” Natasha asked, setting a pair of shoes by the door. Pepper sighed as she brought up the scores.

“Good ole US of A drew 2-2 with Mexico. Rogers and Wilson scored. Stark got sent off. Reyes scored both for Mexico,” Pepper told her. Natasha looked up and scratched her head.

“Stark got a red?” Natasha asked apprehensively. Pepper nodded. “Yup,” she answered, popping the ‘p’.  

“Between Tony and Clint… Jeez, they’re both gifted but hate thinking rationally sometimes,” Natasha complained. The suspension would not affect Washington at all but it would play on Stark’s mind. Pepper inclined her head, zooming in on a photograph of Stark in action.

“Mmm…He’s pretty cute, though,” she commented. Natasha raised an eyebrow incredulously. “Really? Stark?”

Pepper shrugged and pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Oh, come on!” she cajoled. “You must have noticed that you’ve got a pretty hot team.”

Natasha laughed and rolled her eyes once more. “Some of us can control ourselves,” she replied. Pepper narrowed her eyes.

“So, you’re telling me you haven’t noticed Sam’s infectious smile, Bucky’s ‘straight-out-of-a-Taylor-Swift-video’ face or just T’Challa in general?” she implored. The redhead shook her head with a smirk.  Pepper bit her bottom lip mischievously and looked at Natasha from under her brow.

“But you must have noticed Steve Rogers’ baby blues and blond hair. I mean, he’s just got that gentle giant vibe down, right?”

Natasha glared at Pepper as she cleared her throat uncomfortably. She could feel heat rising to her neck but refused to seem flustered. She picked up a cushion and threw it at Pepper’s head. Pepper caught it and sent it back.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Pepper said. Natasha sighed and pointed menacingly at her. “Shut up.”

* * *

 

Two days later, the team was back in training. It was a gym day so all the players spent their day inside the large complex. The gym and locker rooms were located on the top floor of the complex. All gym sessions were supervised by the individual coaches while Wanda sometimes dropped by to see that no one decided to throw a dumbbell out the window, she often took the opportunity to visit nearby youth academy just a mile down the road. Natasha stayed in her office to work on tactics. She also had meetings with the PR team and management.

Maria Hill was always required to attend the meetings and was the first person in the room most days. Unfortunately, today was not one of those days. She had spent almost an hour looking for the car keys that had been in her coat pocket and the traffic had been ridiculously busy. She wasn’t helped by the fact that she had to carry her own briefcase _and_ a box of files left by the previous owners. Maria finally reached the complex and hastily parked her car. She rushed inside but her foot caught on a rug and she dropped the box, spilling its contents onto the wooden floor. Maria bent down, swearing under her breath in frustration. Suddenly, a pair of Nikes appeared in front of her and someone bent down to her level and began helping her to gather the pages.

“You alright?” the male voice asked, handing her some of the files he gathered. Maria sighed and glanced up at the person helping her. She saw Sam Wilson smiling back at her. She took the files and nodded briskly.

“I think I’ll be okay,” she replied, standing up. “Haven’t gotten any papercuts yet.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s lucky. Damn papercuts sting like hell,” he stated, pushing himself up using his knees. Maria allowed herself a small smile but frowned once more when she attempted to carry both her briefcase and the box. Sam quickly came to her aid, however, seizing the box before it fell again.

“Need a hand?” he asked. Maria breathed a laugh. “I could do with about fifteen more but...Yeah, you can help me.”

Sam gave a dashing smile. “I’d be honoured, ma’am. I’m Sam, by the way,” he said as they started up the stairs. Maria glanced at him.

“Maria. Maria Hill,” she replied. Sam did a double-take.

“Oh, you’re the chief exec! We met a couple months ago. At the announcement of the takeover,” he explained. Maria looked at him, before suddenly remembering their first introduction.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I remember now. Sorry,” she recalled as they reached the first landing and turned onto the next set of stairs. Sam laughed.

“I’ll try not to be too offended by the fact that you find me forgettable,” he fretted, jokingly. Maria smirked. “You do that.”

Sam made a joking ‘hmph’ sound. They chatted some more as they climbed the stairs.

“So, do you come to a lot of the games?” he asked. Maria nodded. “Well, I’ve been to all of ‘em so far,” she replied. “I saw the US game against Mexico, too.”

Sam stood a little straighter, thinking about his goal. A shot from just outside the penalty box that rifled into the top left corner.

“Oh yeah?” he asked smugly. Maria saw his expression.

“Yeah. I thought your goal took a deflection though,” she admitted, relishing the indignant look on his face. He cleared his throat and threw his shoulders back.

“Seriously? The ball took a bobble off the pitch and curved,” he protested. Maria laughed.

“Sure, blame the pitch,” she said teasingly. Sam shrugged as they reached the second last floor. He motioned at the corridor that branched off to the left of the grand staircase.

“Meeting rooms is over there, right?” he inquired. Maria nodded in confirmation and they set off down the carpeted hall. Sam saw photographs of past teams and managers hanging on the dark blue walls. He marvelled at the honours the old teams had won and stopped in front of a photo of the 1972-73 squad which the captain holding the F.A. Cup aloft. Maria noticed Sam standing at the photograph.

“We intend to get back there someday,” she said solemnly. Sam glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. “I just hope it’s someday soon,” he replied, turning fully back to her. It was Maria’s turn to shrug. “You guys play well and it could be sooner than you think.”

They walked a few more paces until Maria stopped outside a dark mahogany door adorned with the eagle of the Washington crest.

“Alright, I think I can manage from here. Thanks, Wilson. You better get to training before Romanoff drops you,” she told Sam. He grinned as he handed her the box.

“Anytime, Miss Hill. I can just blame you anyway,” he replied cheekily, opening and closing the door for the raven-haired woman. He set off back down the corridor and up the stairs for the gym, pausing only to gaze at the F.A. Cup photograph once more.  

* * *

 

Wanda often visited the youth academy to inspect the next crop of promising youngsters. The academy was run by Phil Coulson and Melinda May. When she arrived, Wanda encountered the Under 18s and Under 21s training on their all-weather pitch. She spotted Coulson overseeing all the sessions. Wanda made her way over to the balding man.

“Coulson! Got any more wonderkids for me?” she yelled as she crossed the gravel to reach the pitch. Phil whirled around and squinted against the sun, smiling when he recognised the Sokovian. He laughed and shook her hand in greeting.

“You tell me,” he said, gesturing at the batch of players training. Wanda noticed several players glancing over at her only for May to send them for a couple of laps of the pitch. Phil gave the teenagers his best glare before returning his gaze to Wanda.

“So, how’re Parker and the others doing?” he asked. Wanda folded her arms as she watched the young players.

“Good. They are settling in well to the senior side, Campbell came on as a sub a while back and did well. We are thinking of starting Parker for the next Cup game, to give T’Challa a break,” Wanda replied. Coulson nodded in agreement.

“You are still keeping an eye on the grades?” Wanda inquired. Coulson and May were adamant that all players kept up their studies to the best of their abilities. While the young players might be promoted to the first team, the academy still took responsibility for them until they were firmly established in the senior team. This meant that the academy acted like a second family when needed: making sure the boys did alright in school, arranging accommodation and looking after the kids in general.

Phil laughed. “We try, not everyone’s an academic. Well, except for the Leo Fitz kid. He’s a damn computer,” he told Wanda, pointing at the skinny midfielder who sometimes trained with the seniors. She laughed.

“I will have to tell Natasha. Might be useful to have an _actual genius_ in the senior squad,” she responded.

* * *

 

It was growing dark when Natasha finally finished for the day. She shut down her laptop and stretched as she stood. Suddenly, a light caught the corner of her eye. Natasha turned around to see the floodlights off the training pitch turning on. She spotted a lone figure setting up cones and footballs on the field. She quickly gathered her things and rushed outside to investigate.

 

Natasha finally recognised Steve as he sprinted around cones, tracked back and then moved between the cones once more before finally shooting for goal. He didn’t seem to hear her trainers as they crunched on the gravel.

 

“You realise you don’t have to live here, right?” The sudden and unexpected voice made Steve stumble and fall as he ran backwards, which made Natasha smirk slyly. He scrambled to his feet and gave an embarrassed smile as the redhead came closer to lean on the railings that ringed the pitch.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he stuttered. “I just wanted to work on something.”

Natasha nodded. “Your agility?” she asked. Steve nodded, placing his hands on his hips. “Is that a _clumsy_ joke?” he asked, recalling that night in the parking lot. Natasha raised an eyebrow and smirked. Steve smiled inwardly at the quirk of her lips.

“You can’t train alone,” Natasha stated. “You need a coach.”  Steve furrowed his brow.

“But, if you fall…Your clothes… They’ll get messed up,” he replied. Natasha glanced down at her sweater and jeans before shrugging and pulling the sweater off, leaving her with the t-shirt underneath. She dropped her bag and ducked under the railings.

“The jeans were old anyway.”

Steve watched incredulously as she jogged toward him. She stopped in front of him and folded her arms. “Well? Are we standing or training? Run straight, sprint back, go between and shoot.”

Steve felt himself going red as he doubled back and started again.

* * *

 

They trained for almost two hours, Natasha showed him how to hold himself to get around defenders quicker. After a while, they began playing against each other, taking turns in defence and attack. Natasha showed that she was unafraid of a little dirt as she slid into tackles that sent Steve sprawling. She also demonstrated her own technique and agility by flicking the ball around Steve or between his feet. She was so quick that he found himself resorting to tugging her back by her t-shirt. Suddenly, Natasha skipped to a stop. Unfortunately, Steve wasn’t so nimble and fell onto his backside, bringing Natasha down with him.

They landed in a heap on the turf, Natasha falling backwards onto his broad chest. After an uncertain few seconds, Steve heard her burst into gentle laughter. Her sultry chuckle was infectious and Steve couldn’t help but join in. Natasha pushed herself into a sitting position on the grass and Steve propped himself up on his elbows. He watched, somewhat entranced, as she tucked a loose strand of her behind her ear.

“You’re pretty nimble, boss,” he said. Natasha smiled. “I have a background in ballet but…”

“A love for football,” Steve finished. Natasha glanced over with intense green orbs. Steve smiled. “Yeah, I can understand that.”

“So, how’d you get into…all this?” she asked, gesturing at the complex and field. Steve sighed and leaned further bac on his elbows.

“Back in Brooklyn, Bucky used to play all kinds of sports. I got all kinds of beat up…”

Natasha raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. Steve shrugged and gave an easy smile.

“No, I swear. After a while, Bucky got tired of having bruised knuckles from saving me so he brought me to one of his soccer practices. And I fell in love with it, hit a growth spurt and spent every hour I wasn’t studying or working, playing soccer in the streets or maybe a field- if I was lucky…” he explained. Steve returned his gaze to Natasha from his hands and she was struck by the blue eyes that Pepper had been so enthusiastic about. Natasha saw that his soft blue eyes deserved all of Pepper’s praise.

They spent some more time sitting and talking before the floodlights began to fade. Natasha looked around.

“Looks like it’s time to go,” she said, sighing. Steve smirked and stood up. “I believe you’re right, ma’am,” he replied, offering her his hand. She considered it before giving a small smile and accepting his help. Steve pulled her to her feet and found that her hand lingered on his for a single beat. She moved away quickly however and shivered as she went to collect her things.

Once Natasha had shrugged her sweater back on, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the sight of Steve gathering the equipment. He looked up and caught her eye, waving.

“Goodnight, Miss Romanoff,” he shouted across the field.

“Night, Rogers,” Natasha yelled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! More Romanogers! I really hope you guys like this one! It's 2.30AM right now and I regret nothing...  
> Let me know if you liked it!


	9. The Own Goal

It was the third cup game of the season when things within the squad took a turn. They were playing a side from the bottom of Division Three and were down three-nil at half-time. Rumlow had started as Bruce had pulled a muscle in the warm-up before the game. Wanda had persuaded Natasha to give some of the younger players a try. Peter Parker started in goal and Leo Fitz came in for Stark in the centre of midfield. Parker’s debut was going well; he had made several saves and looked confident in the box. Fitz, however, was not having such an enjoyable time. With the Eagles already down by one goal from a header, the other team were awarded a corner kick.

Players from both sides missed the ball in the air and Rumlow missed an opportunity to clear the ball. As a result, the ball broke loose in the crowded penalty area. It bounced off several players in the chaos as both teams launched themselves at the ball. Unfortunately, Fitz was in the wrong place as an opposing player managed to strike the ball. It bounced off Fitz’s back and into the left side of the goal. Parker flailed hopelessly as he scurried toward the ball but he could not prevent it from rolling into the net. Rumlow reacted furiously, roaring at the young player and grabbing the ball from the net only to throw it harshly at the turf. He had not calmed down going into the dressing room for halftime ten minutes later.

“What the hell was that?!” Rumlow yelled, grabbing Fitz by the collar of his white away jersey as soon as he spotted the skinny boy in the dressing room. “You tryna play for them?!” Rumlow continued. Steve and Clint leapt into action as Fitz attempted in vain to shove the bigger man off. None of the boys were as quick as Natasha, though. She seemed to pop up in the space between the brawling players. She shoved both players back with a surprising amount of strength. Clint caught Fitz as he stumbled back while Steve restrained Rumlow instead of steadying him. Strands of flaming hair had fallen loose from her ponytail and she stretched her arms out toward both players as the entire room held its breath.

“Fancy an easy target, Rumlow? Someone else to blame?” she asked furiously, pointing at him. He glared at the manager. Wanda was torn between letting Natasha do whatever she was doing or break up the scene. Natasha spoke before Wand could decide. She turned completely toward the defender.

“If you’re gonna _attack_ someone then go for me,” she told him, smirking defiantly as Rumlow boiled. She laughed mockingly. “Because I make the decisions. Everything that goes wrong, I am responsible for… So, blame me,” she finished. The whole room watched, mystified at the small woman’s composure. Natasha cleared her throat and glanced around, suddenly aware of the whole room’s gaze. Her eyes settled on Steve for a fleeting moment. He raised his head and gazed at her green eyes. He seemed to nod gently and Natasha straightened her flyaway hairs. She swallowed and turned to Wanda, whispering something to her assistant. Wanda nodded briskly.

“ _You_ ,” Wanda hissed, pointing at Rumlow. “Off.” She turned to the rest of the group. “We go three at the back. Full backs push up to just behind the midfield. Stark, you’re on for Rumlow. You and Barton go attacking and defensive. Rhodes and Fitz will push out toward the wings but leave room for the fullbacks to run forward.”

There was a mumble around the room as the team understood her instructions. Natasha stood at the back and watched as Wanda took charge. A knock on the door signified the last five minutes before the second half. Wanda drew herself to her full height and cleared her throat, gaining the attention of the players.

“No more of this _blaming_ shit! You will act as men. You will go out there and do your jobs! Make goals, score goals and stop goals! God knows you lot are paid enough!” she shouted. Several players jumped and swallowed visibly. Wanda folded her arms.

“Now, get out on that pitch and play for your fans! For your honour! For the badge!”

A roar of approval went up from the Washington boys and Natasha opened the door for them to jog through. She gently stopped Steve as he ran past. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear.

“The centre back took a hit to his left knee earlier, make him turn the wrong way. Give him awkward decisions,” she ordered, her lips grazing his ear. Steve glanced down at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, solemnly.

* * *

 

The Eagles took their place on the pitch as Rumlow took a seat in the dugout. The referee blew the whistle and Washington kicked off. They started well and dominated the game as they should have done from the beginning. The ball went out for a Washington throw-in on the halfway line. Thor raced up and ordered his teammates forward. He forced them back to the other team’s penalty area. He took several steps back, until he felt the advertising boards at his back, and then proceeded to take a run up and launched the ball into the area with an enormous throw. Steve leapt into the air and flicked the ball on with his head. Sam was sprinting around the crowd and reached the back post of the goals just in time to steer the ball past the goalie and into the net.

The crowd began to liven up after Sam’s goal. They began to sing and chant and even jeer the opposite team. It didn’t take long for the Eagles to score again. Directly after the game’s restart, Clint charged down the ball and tackled the other team’s striker. Fitz was on hand to collect the ball and danced around other players. He quickly passed to Bucky, who steamed into the box.

Steve made a run behind Bucky, who – reading his friend’s mind – laid the ball off to Steve, using the back of his heel. Steve took one step before slamming the ball into the net. It soared past the flailing goalkeeper and the score was 3-2.

The other team made a better effort this time. They managed to get as far as the back line before Thor crashed into the player, sending him sprawling. However, the referee waved away any protests for a free kick. Thor passed it to Rhodey, who dribbled forward and sent a clever pass across the pitch to Bucky. Barnes controlled the ball and spotted Clint arriving into the area. He sent the ball toward him but it just missed Barton. Fortunately, Fitz was perfectly placed to receive the ball. Without even taking a touch to control the ball, he struck the ball with the laces of his boot. Several defenders threw themselves at the shot but none could reach it before it rifled into the roof of the net.

Fitz was so shocked at his goal that he did not know what to do. He just continued running toward the crowd behind the goals with a huge grin. The other players sprinted after him, leaping onto his back and almost sent Fitz into the fans. Natasha was more muted in her celebrations but grinned and punched the air subtly.

 Only when they were heading back to restart did Steve glance over at Natasha in the dugout.  She nodded and gave a small smile but motioned at him to keep the team calm. Steve nodded back, adding a salute, which prompted a quickly smothered laugh.

The score was now level at 3-3 but there was little over three minutes left in the game and Natasha was worried about the energy levels of her players, although the other team were visibly exhausted. She looked to Wanda for advice. The other woman’s calm exterior soothed Natasha’s nerves.

“Hold on,” she said. “We are almost there.” Wanda stood beside Natasha as they looked on.

T’Challa had the ball for a goal kick and blasted the ball with all his might up to Steve. The big striker jumped and knocked the ball down with his chest. He turned the defender and ran at the exposed centre back. Suddenly, he remembered Natasha’s advice. Using the techniques that she had shown him, he faked a left shot and tapped the ball through the defender’s legs and stepped around him. With only the goalkeeper left to beat, he ran at the goal. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Bucky arriving in the box. Steve hesitated to draw the goalie out of the goals. Steve looked up to see Bucky ready to shoot. Steve squared the ball to his teammate.

With an open goal to aim at, Bucky calmly passed the ball into the net to complete the comeback. Wanda expected Barnes to wheel off and celebrate. Instead, he came tearing toward the dugout where every substitute and member of staff was on their feet celebrating. Wanda leapt with joy and relief as Bucky, followed by his team, ran towards the bench. Bucky caught her and enveloped her in a bear hug. Suddenly, the rest of the team came crashing into them. The entire group tumbled to the ground.

Eventually, the referee ordered the players back to the pitch to finish the match. They all scrambled to their feet, carefully pulling their coaches to their feet. When the final whistle went, the entire Washington staff came onto the pitch to celebrate the comeback. Natasha spotted Fitz standing apart from the group. She shook his hand, much to the young player’s delight.

“You did well, kid. Never let your head drop, okay? If you mess up, let it go. Alright?” she said, giving him an assured smile. Fitz nodded and Natasha moved on, leaving the teenager to take in the whole stadium.

* * *

 

After the team got changed in the dressing room, they were met by a crowd of journalists in the tunnel. Clint had been planning on avoiding all of them and going home when he spotted a familiar face standing by the door, trying to grab the attention of the players. Clint smiled inwardly and strolled over to the journalist.

He recognised the weathered leather jacket she was wearing as quickly as he remembered her face.

“Hey there,” he greeted, sauntering toward her. Hennessy, the girl from the bar in London, smiled crookedly. “Hi,” she replied. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?” she asked, raising her recorder to Clint’s eyeline.

He sighed. “I’m not really _allowed_ , anymore…” he informed her, reluctantly. Hennessy smirked.

“I can’t imagine why,” she replied. “Seriously though, just a couple of questions?”

Clint swayed.

 “Please don’t make me beg.”

“Alright,” he conceded. Hennessy beamed at him before regaining her composure and cleared her throat.

“Clint, you allowed a team a tier belong you to score three goals that went unanswered in the first half. What went wrong?”

He swallowed, searching for an answer. “I don’t know, to be honest. The blame lies completely with the players. We just didn’t gel enough in the first half. We were complacent and a little arrogant, I guess. But the other team came to play and really made us play our best in the second half.”

Hennessy nodded solemnly, listening intently to his answers.

“What exactly triggered the _emphatic_ response in the second half?”

He sighed with a smile. “The manager is scarier than she looks. Like, really scary. In a cool way…”

Hennessy chuckled at his response. “Last one, then you’re free to go.”

“Aww,” Clint joked. “I was having fun not messing up on national television.”

She smiled crookedly again. “Leo Fitz had a mixed game tonight, but what do you make of his unfortunate own goal?”

Clint shrugged and shifted on his feet. “Hey. I mean, it was just an honest mistake. Y’know he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Luckily, he cancelled it out we a goal at the correct end,” he said with a breathy laugh. He looked at Hennessy’s pale blue-green eyes as she glanced down at her feet.

“We can’t judge a kid’s first game on one mistake. We all make mistakes sometimes, right?” he said, a little more seriously. Hennessy turned her gaze back to his grey eyes and looked at him intently.

“Right,” she confirmed, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. Clint couldn’t help but smile down at her.

Suddenly, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, making both Clint and Hennessy jump.

“Almost done here?” Natasha asked pleasantly, but it was clear that she wasn’t asking. Hennessy cleared her throat again and clenched her jaw. “Yeah, I think we’re all done. Thanks, Clint,” she said before quickly making for the exit.

Clint nodded. “Anytime,” he called after her. Hennessy whirled around and winked before continuing. He looked at his manager, who was glaring at him.

“Did you at least keep it family friendly this time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while! Sorry about the wait, I was just so busy lately. I hope you enjoyed that. Please let me know if you did!


	10. The Movies

The players were tired and tempers were still frayed even after the game. They splintered into their respective groups but most were going back to play FIFA at Sam’s house. Wanda was stressed and a little cold when they got back to the team hotel so she sat down in a seat under a television in the bar with a small whiskey. It was late and while most of the T.Vs in the bar were showing sport highlights, the one in front of Wanda was tuned into a film channel. She sat back and sipped her drink while she watched _Grease_.

After a few minutes, she noticed a familiar figure in the corner of her eye. Half-turning her head, she saw a dishevelled Bucky slumping into the bar. He stood beside her couch without realising she was beside him. Wanda smiled slyly and accidently brushed his arm with her hand as she pointed at him.

“I don’t remember saying you lot could hit the bars…” she said seriously before breaking into a smile at Bucky’s frightened expression. He sighed when he realised she was joking and broke out into a large smile. He shrugged.

“Nah, I was just looking for a place that was showing my favourite seventies movie,” he replied, gesturing at the television. Wanda smiled and made room on the couch. Bucky hesitated for a second before sitting down beside her.

“Maybe this is how we should de-escalate fights. Just put on _Grease_ and watch everyone bond to ‘Summer Nights’,” Bucky said with a smirk. Wanda glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

“You think that would work?” she asked, smiling slyly. Bucky nodded earnestly. “Absolutely. Who could ever fight to _Hopelessly Devoted_?”

Wanda laughed reluctantly and Bucky smiled at the way her eyes crinkled. It was a few scenes before they spoke again. Bucky heard Wanda beginning to mutter the lines under her breath. He glanced at her and she went a light shade of red and cleared her throat. It was the first time in almost two years that he’d seen her blush. It made her seem like a regular person instead of the flawless coach she usually was.

“This movie is how I learned English,” she explained, gazing down at her hands. Bucky’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked quietly. Wanda nodded and lifted her gaze to his brown eyes.

“A man in our city used sell pirated old movies. When I was a kid, I loved the Hollywood films that used to play on the T.V. sometimes but I never understood them,” she told him, a small smile playing on her lips. “One day, Pietro came back to our flat with _Grease_ and _Singing in the Rain_ in his hands. He still swears he stole them but I knew his money box was much lighter than that morning. I watched the movies each day. Sokovia is too poor to dub the dialogue so there were just subtitles. So, I learned English…eventually.”

Bucky looked at her in awe. “Your English is better than mine.” Wanda smiled brightly at him. “I loved the American musicals. They were so…” She paused as she searched for the right word. Her eyes seemed to brighten when she spoke about her love for old movies.

“They were so full of life… They were just fun. Sokovia was so dull and depressed. Being able to escape for even less than two hours was the greatest gift anyone could have given me.” Bucky had never heard either of the Maximoff twins talk about their home country. Bucky had never been rich. Both he and Steve were from families that often struggled with money but Bucky could not imagine what it was like to live in a country still reeling from the Cold War. As he watched her watching the film, he wondered about the things she might have seen. He wondered whether she had been near the exploding mines that he’d seen on the news. There had been so many, and Sokovia was so small that he concluded Wanda must have been near at least one. The thought turned his stomach and a wave of protectiveness washed over him.

“What was it like?” His voice was little more than a whisper but if Wanda was surprised she hid it well – like she always did. She simply gazed at him deeply, her eyes showing slivers of what might have been vulnerability.

“There never many _legal_ ways for kids to stay entertained. But I found two. Movies and football. Pietro would go play in the streets with the other kids from all the other building and I would follow him. There was an abandoned car park we used to use but playing in the narrow roadways was what really taught you to play. We used to dream of playing for Dinamo Zagreb, Steuea Bucharest or Spartak Moscow or maybe even a German or Turkish team - at least the boys did… I loved football but there were no women’s teams. So, whenever I got tired of tackling the boys, I would watch my father’s old tapes of Steuea and the old Hungary team from the 50s. He loved football so much. I spent hours watching everyone from Puskas to Pelé to Lev Yashin.”

This was also the first time Bucky had heard either Maximoff even mention one of their parents. He could not keep the smile from his face when he heard her speak candidly about how she learned the inner workings of football. It was so normal to her now. The pitch was her second home. Suddenly Bucky wanted to share his own past so that she would not feel weak for showing some kind of emotion.

“Steve and I used to play on the street too. You’re right, that’s where you learn to move the ball quickly, how to get outta tight spaces.” Bucky paused to laugh. “How to keep from getting the crap kicked outta ya.” Wanda giggled and bit her lip. Bucky smiled at the way her brown eyes lit up. She seemed much older than she was – maybe from her life in Sokovia or from the loss of her parents – but when she smiled her gentle smile she became more approachable and the heaviness in her gaze dissipated.

 

They stayed talking together well past _Grease_ ’s closing credits until Wanda decided that it was time to go home. That was when they suddenly realized that they had both carpooled in order to get to the game and know those carpools had left and now they had to walk home through the cold night. Bucky fished in his gear bag for a hoodie that didn’t stink of grass and settled on the zip-up that was furthest from his boots. He handed it to Wanda who shyly slipped it on.

Together they walked through the night and hoped that they didn’t get too lost. One hour and several wrong turns in poorly lit streets later, they arrived outside what Wanda reckoned was her house.

“I really hope you’re right,” Bucky said doubtfully. Wanda shrugged. “Well, I think we are about to find out,” she deadpanned. Bucky snorted loudly but Wanda rushed to cover his mouth to prevent anyone on the sleepy street waking up. She giggled and slowly let her hand drop from his stubbled chin. Bucky gazed down at Wanda, both unaware of how close they were standing. Wanda’s chin was inches away from his collarbone. Bucky let his gaze drop to her lips for a second and Wanda felt herself do the same.

Slowly, Bucky leant closer to her and Wanda craned her neck upwards. She felt his stubble scratching her face as he kissed her. Bucky went to wrap his arms around her when he felt Wanda place her hands flat on his chest and pushed him away. He stumbled back as Wanda cleared her throat and stared at her feet, troubled.

“I have to go,” she said hastily, retreating into her shell. Bucky nodded and watched as she rushed up the steps and into the house he hoped was hers. The click of the closing door echoed through the silence of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the wait guys! I'll try and be better!! I hope you like this chapter, please let me know in the comments! Lovin' all the support, thanks so much!


	11. The Google

The team were given the next day off and Clint woke early after a troubled night. He had struggled to fall asleep that night because he kept reliving the match in his head. He did eventually fall into a light slumber for a few hours but found himself awake just as some faint light began to stream through his curtains. Sighing, Clint threw back the covers and changed into track pants and a light jacket. He grabbed his phone, earphones and keys and left for an early morning jog.

Whenever he felt pensive, he got jittery so Clint always found himself running or tricking around with a ball in an effort to clear his head. He stuck his earphones into his ears and blasted We Are The Ocean through the wires. Some drops of rain must have fallen during the night because the paths were slick and the air was damp. Clint sang along as he ran, forcing himself to blank the last game from his memory. All he was aware of was the slap of his trainers off the concrete and the powerful voice of Liam Cromby booming in his ears.

“I saw her…. on a… Friday night… She was… something of… a different kind…” Clint panted as he sang under his breath. After a while his mind began to wander across several different topics: Food, breakfast, those new Nike boots he’d seen a few days ago, that reporter from London with the pale eyes and leather jacket. Clint thought about how she had struggled to get the attention of any of the other players and realised that she must work for a small publication. It suddenly occurred to him that he knew virtually nothing about Hennessy at all.

The rain was beginning to fall again so Clint ducked inside the first open coffee place he saw. He bought himself a coffee and sat down at the counter in front of the window. He was still curious about Hennessy so he did what anyone who had Wi-Fi and questions about a person could do. He Googled. Clint sipped his coffee and typed in ‘Jamie Hennessy’ into Google and found hundreds of results and images but none of the results had pale blue-green eyes, though there was a Facebook profile belonging to a bald guy from Mississippi with an impressive stamp collection. Clint tried ‘Jamie Hennessy Ireland’ and enjoyed better luck. This time he found several articles that she had written and, scrolling down, even found some about her.

In the images tab, he found a fresh-faced Hennessy in what looked like team photos with soccer teams. Clicking on one photo, he saw her and her teammates smiling at the camera while sitting and standing behind a board that read: _‘Under 21 Republic of Ireland Women.’_ She sat in the middle of the photograph at the front, the coach beside her. The captain’s seat. Scrolling forward he saw her holding trophies aloft while she wore the green Irish shirt. In some photos, she wore the red kit of the Arsenal Ladies.  

Flicking back to the articles, his finger froze in front of a headline from a small Irish based website that said: ‘ _Young Ireland and Arsenal Starlet Forced to Quit.’_ Clint clicked into it and skimmed through it quickly. He discovered that ‘Jamila’ Hennessy was forced into early retirement due to a severe injury. Clint went on to finally find a Facebook profile belonging to Hennessy, and not a 50-year-old Mississippi man.  

* * *

 

 Natasha wasn’t quite having such a quiet morning. If Clint had very little sleep, then Natasha pulled an all-nighter. Pepper heard her friend pacing around and rummaging in the kitchen throughout the night before finally finding Natasha face down on her bed in the morning.

“Dead yet?” Pepper asked, tying the rope of her dressing gown around her waist. She heard a grunt in reply. Pepper crossed the room and lay down beside Natasha, who turned her head towards the strawberry-blonde. Pepper pursed her lips and brushed Natasha red locks off her face.

“Define ‘ _dead’_ ,” Natasha replied groggily. Pepper breathed a laugh. Natasha pushed herself up onto her elbows and handed Pepper her phone before plopping her head into Pepper’s lap. The screen showed an e-mail from Nick Fury. She read through quickly.

“ _Miss Romanoff,_

_I would like to congratulate you on the victory today. It showed great heart and resilience. However, losing 3-0 at half-time to a Third Division team is unacceptable- regardless of a so-called glorious comeback. I appreciate you informing me of the altercation with Brock Rumlow. Such behaviour will not be tolerated at Washington and I expect you will deliver the appropriate punishment. Despite the first-half display, you still have my full backing but I feel the need to emphasize the fact that any more performances of such a standard will require me to revise my decision. I would also like to remind you of my wish to keep Clint Barton and Tony Stark away from any interviews for the remainder of the current season._

_Regards,_

_Nicholas J. Fury.”_

Pepper finished reading and sighed. She pulled the blankets over Natasha and began plaiting her hair.

 “Got that at 11.15 last night. What the hell am I gonna do about Rumlow?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.  Pepper thought for a moment before replying. “It’s only November. Drop him for a few games. If his attitude doesn’t improve by January, try and sell him,” she offered. Natasha was silent while she contemplated Pepper’s idea. After a few minutes, she nodded.

“I was thinking along the same line. I’ll make him train with the reserves for a while, that should take him down a peg. I’ll get the scouts looking for a replacement, just in case though. I’ll be damned if I let that jumped up man-child make a fool outta me,” Natasha said. Pepper smiled. “Thatta girl!” she exclaimed, making her friend laugh.  

* * *

 

 At training the next day, Natasha ordered Rumlow into her office and delivered his sentence. He didn’t protest but Natasha could sense his fury and indignation at being forced to train with players he considered to be below him. She pretended not to notice the way he slammed her door. Natasha rolled her eyes and went back to the folders on her desk. Seconds after opening the first binder, she heard a rapping of knuckles on her door.

“Come in,” she called, not looking up from her work. She tore her eyes away from the pages when she heard the soft sound of the door closing. Steve was standing awkwardly in front of her desk. Natasha didn’t bother concealing her surprise and laughed a little.

“Everything alright, Rogers?” she asked. Steve swallowed and scratched his neck. “Uh, yes ma’am. I-uh- I just wanted to -y’know- _commend_ you on how you handled the Rumlow stuff on Wednesday night. It was pretty badass,” he said, a small smile forming on his lips as he ended the sentence. Natasha pushed back from her desk and leaned back in her leather chair.

“Well, thank you for your… _commendation_ ,” she replied with a smirk, watching as the tips of Steve’s ears went red. “I like to think I _am_ ‘pretty badass’.” Steve chuckled and held his hands behind his back before straightening and turning solemn once more.

“I would also like to apologize,” he began. Natasha raised an eyebrow. Steve looked down at his feet, unable to hold her piercing green gaze. “As captain, I should have shown more responsibility on the pitch. I should have stepped in with Fitz and Rumlow, I should have set an example for the others. I’m sorry and I understand if you want to review my captaincy…”

Natasha was shocked and went to Steve. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Steve raised his head and finally looked in the eye.

“Steve,” she began sternly. “You are the man the other boys look up to. They respect you and you respect them. You are the only one I want as captain,” she said. “So, you didn’t have the best game. None of us did. No one expects you to be some kind of perfect superhero everyday… One bad day doesn’t make you a bad captain, you dumbass.”

Steve gazed at her. Her words eased the knot in his stomach and steeled him. She thumped him heartily on the shoulder. “You’re not a superhero, you’re human. But a goddamn talented one. Don’t forget that,” she ordered, pointing her finger at him. Steve smiled and Natasha gave a reassuring wink. She turned away and walked back to her desk. Steve took this as his que to leave but was almost bowled over by Bucky, who burst into the office. Natasha sighed heavily.

“What? You having a crisis too?” she asked. Bucky didn’t even seem to hear her. “Do either of you know where Maximoff is?” he asked rather frantically. Natasha wasn’t even a little fazed. “Which one?” she asked, unimpressed. Her exhaustion was beginning to show. Bucky seemed to shrink back.

“W-Wanda?”

Natasha dropped into her chair and covered her face. “Gym last I saw.”

Bucky thanked her and sprinted off. Steve’s mouth hung agape and he swivelled his head to look at his manager, who mumbled through her hands.

“I-I just… I don’t want to freaking know anymore…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, next day chapter!! Might deal with Wanda and Bucky next time!. Tell me what you thought of this one and if have any ideas or suggestion or just things you'd like to see, let me know in the comments! You never know, I might include it!   
> (I probably will...I love suggestions...)


	12. The Apology

Wanda was staring at one of the whiteboards in the gym when Bucky found. He paused for breath in the doorway, having run up several flights of stairs. Her back was turned to him and he hesitated, not wanting to startle her.

“Shut the door. It’s causing a draft…” Wanda’s voice echoed through the empty gym. Bucky jumped and hastily shut the door behind him. “Wanda,” he said. She didn’t hear him, or at least pretended not to very convincingly. Bucky swallowed and walked toward.

“Wanda,” he called again. Again, she ignored him and instead gave the tactics on the whiteboard her full attention. He repeated her name one final time when he reached her and gently laid his hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged him off roughly. “What is it, Barnes?” she snapped harshly, finally facing him. Her eyes were nowhere near as warm as they had been a few nights ago. Bucky recoiled and dropped his hand from where it hung in the air. “I-I just… I wanted to talk to you…” he stuttered. Wanda scowled and turned her back on him.

“About what?” she asked gruffly. Bucky was taken aback but refused to relent. “You know what,” he replied, folding his arms. Wanda seemed to stiffen before she turned to face him again.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she stated quietly, avoiding his gaze. She couldn’t bear to look into his crestfallen eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s mood went from shocked to frustrated. “Sorry?! Sorry it happened or sorry you won’t talk to me about it? Why won’t you talk about last night?” he hissed. Wanda suddenly rounded on him furiously.

“Because talking about it is acknowledging it. And acknowledging it means that it happened. And if it happened the press will find out!” she yelled angrily. Wanda ran her hands through her hair exasperatedly. Bucky swallowed nervously, ashamed of his outburst.

“They might not find out…” he said. Wanda laughed harshly. “They _always_ find out,” she spat, crouching to sit on a stack of weights. “Would that be so bad?” Bucky asked softly, sitting on the floor in front of her. Wanda rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“Do you know how hard it was to get out of my country? As a woman, to get out of Sokovia using _football_ , of all things. How many people laughed at me when I told them I was earning my coaching badges?” she asked. She pushed herself to her feet using her knees and paced around. “Do you know how _hard_ I have had to work to get where I am now? I slaved over coaching manuals and rulebooks. When I did get a job as defence coach here a couple years ago, I poured over footage and tactics; only to be told ‘ _my pretty face was going to waste’_. I was the butt of every terrace joke. ‘ _Who did you have to sleep with to get there?’_ I got that every week of my first season. You ever been asked that?” Wanda looked at Bucky intensely. He shook his head gently. She sighed tiredly.

“If the press finds out about us, you’ll be some kind of hero and I’ll never get another job in football. All my work to prove sexists wrong will have been for nothing and the reputation I have slaved for will go down the drain…” She plopped back down onto the weights and folded her arms, leaning on her knees. “So, I am sorry it happened but I’m sorrier about our jobs. You can’t tell anyone…”

Bucky said nothing but gazed at her as she stared into space. He hated how defeated she looked. Wanda was never defeated, she was their steel, their backbone. He clenched his jaw.

“Yes, coach,” he said quietly. He stood up and brushed off his clothes. Wanda clambered to her feet and returned to her board.

“Head down to the training pitch with the others Barnes, I’ll be down in a few minutes…”

And just like that, their relationship returned to that of coach and player. Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to leave. He made it to the door before he finally cracked, asking the question that had been burning in his mind for hours.

“Why did you kiss me back?”

He looked at her from over his shoulder. She turned just enough for him to see her face. A hint of a smile passed over her deep light-green eyes. “Because I wanted to.”

* * *

 Meanwhile, Rumlow was mouthing off in the dressing room – as per usual. He was attempting to tell the uninterested players how unfairly he was being treated. Steve decided not to step in as the others were simply ignoring their demoted colleague. That was until one particular sentence:

“I would have decked that manager, if she wasn’t such a fine piece of ass, that it…”

Steve suddenly strode toward him and grabbed his collar, shoving Rumlow into the wall and winding him.

“You want me to convey that message to her?” Steve snarled. Rumlow struggled to get his breath back but spoke through pants.

“Why so you can beat me up?” he scoffed, twisting his face into a smirk. Steve laughed humourlessly.

“I’m pretty sure Romanoff’s showed she could do that herself…” he replied. The rest of the room laughed much to Rumlow’s embarrassment. He squirmed but never came close to breaking Steve’s iron grip.

“Yeah! Your face when she squared up to you was priceless!” Sam exclaimed. The others laughed again. “Dude, Red’s half your size but she still scared you with one look!” Tony said. Rumlow scowled and Steve released him. Steve turned and returned to his bag just as the others returned to their own tasks. The room groaned universally when Rumlow spoke again.

“Fine,” Rumlow began, grinning arrogantly while rubbing his collarbone. “I won’t say any more about Romanoff but I ain’t making any promises about the little Maximoff…” Pietro stiffed and turned slowly on his heel. “Say one more word and I swear…” He moved toward Brock slowly, fist already raised.

Rumlow rolled his eyes and sneered. “Pretty face. Great figure. Barely talks. She’s damn perfect!”

Bucky walked through the door just as Rumlow began speaking about Wanda. Without breaking stride, he landed a powerful punch on Rumlow’s jaw and kept walking toward his spot on the bench. Rumlow was sent sprawling by Bucky’s mighty blow. He spat out a glob of blood and something that looked suspiciously like a tooth. He struggled to his feet and made for Barnes before Thor stepped in, picking Rumlow up by the shirt as if he were a sack of potatoes.

“Reserves don’t change here,” was all the Norseman said before unceremoniously dumping Rumlow into the gravel and dirt outside. Inside, Steve glanced at an expressionless Bucky sitting on the bench, gazing at his hands.

“Buck?” he ventured. Bucky brushed him off, not taking his eyes from his bruised knuckles. “Don’t ask, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy! Vacation update! Just a quick chapter while I'm on holiday. Might seem a little like filler but I hope you enjoyed it! As always make sure to tell me what you thought in the comments. It was great hearing your ideas. I'd love to hear more! Drop any ideas/prompts/suggestions for anyone down below!  
> Thanks for reading!


	13. The Injury

Pietro was in the middle of a training drill when he felt a dull pain in his calf caused him to pull up suddenly. Confused, he bent down and massaged the where the pain was greatest- right where the goalie had collided with him. Clint stopped beside him and paused for breath.

“Something bothering you, kid?” he asked, resting his hands behind his head. Pietro glanced up, squinting in the sun. He straightened with a grimace. “It’s nothing,” Pietro replied nonchalantly. Clint frowned and grabbed Pietro’s arm as he prepared to jog off.

“Doesn’t look like _nothing_ … Take it from me, if you’ve got a problem you better head to Cho. I brushed everything off last year and missed the last half of the season with a torn hamstring. Get it looked at,” he insisted. Pietro reluctantly agreed to go see the team doctor directly after training.

While Clint was life-coaching Pietro, T’Challa was actually coaching Peter Parker in goal. Somehow, T’Challa had found two athletics hurdles and set them up left and right of Peter. He made the rookie dive over them while catching the balls that he threw. Peter leapt and caught almost every ball, always clearing the hurdles by several inches. After a few minutes, T’Challa let Peter take a break and began speaking to him about what being a goalkeeper entailed.

“You need to be the most alert person on the field,” he began, looking down at Parker who was sprawled on the grass. T’Challa picked up a ball and passed it from hand to hand. “And be the most decisive. Be brave. Never back down.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah. Brave, decisive, alert, got it,” he said quickly, breathing heavily. T’Challa laughed at the boy and offered him a hand up. Peter accepted it gratefully.

“I hear you are highly intelligent. It helps when you’re the smartest guy on the pitch. Just don’t tell Stark I said that,” he said with a bright smile. Peter grinned and nodded. “I won’t tell Mr. Stark,” he said. T’Challa froze and snickered. Rhodey, who had been passing by and heard the remark, stopped dead in his tracks.

“Did I just hear you refer to Tony as _Mr. Stark_?” he asked incredulously. Peter swallowed nervously and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s what Pietro and Clint told me to call him!” he protested. Rhodey and T’Challa glanced at each other seriously before bursting into laughter as Parker’s cheeks tinged red. Rhodey doubled over and clutched his stomach while T’Challa covered his face. Despite his original indignation, Peter started to snigger. This was the first time he really felt like a part of the team.

“Does Stark know you call him that?” T’Challa asked, wiping his eyes. Peter shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Rhodey had finally regained his composure and clapped a heavy hand on Parker’s shoulders. “Good. Tony’s ego would multiply tenfold. Don’t worry, kid. We’ll get them back for you,” he promised, still giggling. Peter glanced down at his feet and scratched his neck. Rhodey ruffled Peter’s brown hair before he jogged off.

“Uh… T-T’Challa,” Peter stuttered. The tall goalkeeper looked at him. “Please don’t t-tell anyone…” Peter pleaded. T’Challa smiled and nodded.

Natasha had been sitting in front of her computer, taking a break with a cup of coffee when Doctor Cho knocked politely on the door.

“Come in,” Natasha called, quickly taking her feet off her desk. Doctor Helen Cho was a tall, slender East Asian woman and a calm, stern demeaner that endeared her to Natasha and many of the players. Natasha set her coffee down and pushed back her chair.

“Helen, how can I help you?” she asked. Cho smiled regretfully and knitted her hands. “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the doctor replied solemnly. Natasha sighed and motioned for Helen to explain.

“I’m afraid Pietro is still suffering with a suspected muscle tear from the last match. It is small but there is no sense in risking turning it into something bigger.”

Though Cho delivered the news tactfully, Natasha bristled. “Thanks, Doctor,” she said. Cho nodded briskly. “We will do our best to get Maximoff fit after the next match, all it requires is some rest.”

Natasha softened and acknowledged Cho. “Thank you, Doctor.” With that, Helen left. Natasha ran her hands through her hair, facing the possibility of playing with any wingers. If Pietro was injured, Bucky would have to play behind Steve in attack, forcing the Eagles to play narrow despite them playing their best football when both widemen were available. She stood up and went to her tactics board begrudgingly and texted Wanda but received no reply. Natasha began shuffling magnets around, muttering under her breath.

* * *

Natasha gave up on the tactics around half seven and decided to home before she hurled the whiteboard out the window. She had locked her office and was heading outside to her car when she spotted people training after hours on the pitch. Expecting one of the figures to be Steve, she crossed the gravel and rested herself on the rusting railing. However, Natasha quickly discovered that the figures were Tony and Peter Parker. She felt a strange pang of disappointment when she didn’t see Steve and she berated instantly for the thought. Suddenly, a voice came from next to her.

“Never seen a goalie score before…” Steve said, smirking as Natasha jumped. Natasha whipped her head around to see a sweaty Steve standing beside her, his blond hair matted and stuck to his scalp and his jersey soaked. Natasha cleared her throat.

“So, you’ve never been to a nightclub with T’Challa?” she retorted. Steve choked his laughter in case Tony and Peter heard them. Natasha waited for Steve to regain control of himself before she spoke again.

“You wouldn’t happen to know why my backup goalie is practicing snap-shots with Stark, would you?” she inquired. Steve smiled. “I heard Parker telling Fitz that he wanted to be the first ‘keeper to play in outfield as well as in goal,” he told her, leaning back on the railings. Natasha looked at the teenager as he slotted a ball into the top corner of the goal, prompting even Tony to applaud.

“Is that so?” Natasha asked, raising a red eyebrow. Steve stared at her small smirk on her face as she thought. He could almost see the cogs turning in her mind. he watched as her eyes narrow and scrutinised Parker. Her eyes were such an intense green. He started when she faced him again, her penetrating gaze seemed heavy as it fell on him. The smirk soon turned into a mischievous smile.

“I didn’t realise you eavesdropped on your fellow teammates…” she teased. Steve glanced down at his boots and chuckled. “Well, we do what we have to sometimes…”

Natasha smiled and nodded but there was something mournful is her gaze. “Yes, we do. Especially when we think good can come of it.”

Steve was entranced for a few seconds and wondered what lay behind the powerful green eyes. There was something about Natasha that made you think there was more to her past than the average person. She was like a puzzle or a maze; each time you thought you might be close to solving it, you ran into a dead-end.

All of a sudden, Steve found himself wanting to solve the puzzle and escape the maze, or at least get closer to the centre. While Natasha drove home thinking about a possible new winger, Steve pondered the mystery that seemed to encompass Natasha whenever they met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one! Let me know who else you want to see in the comments! Thanks for reading xx


	14. The Nerves

Wanda’s phone went off at around four-thirty in the morning. The buzzer sounded at full volume and Wanda, understandably, was terrified at the sudden sound interrupting her dreams. She jumped off the bed and landed awkwardly on her timber floor. Cursing rather loudly, she pulled herself up using her nightstand and answered her phone.

“H-hello?” she asked, her throat dry and voice cracking. A barrage of words came tumbling down the phone at such intensity that Wanda was forced to hold it at arm’s length from her ear. When the person speaking became calmer, she hazarded putting the cell next to her face.

“And that’s why I think we should play Parker tomorrow- err- today…tomorrowday…” the voice said. It took Wanda a few seconds to realise who she was speaking to, her mind groggy from such a deep sleep.

“Hi, Natasha…” she croaked, clambering back up onto her bed and pulling the covers onto her legs. “What do you think?” Natasha asked hastily. Wanda let her body sink back into the bed and warmth began to seep into her again, sleep pulling her eyelids closed.

“Sounds good,” Wanda replied dreamily, having registered none of Natasha’s words. A relived sigh came down her line. “That’s great. I was afraid you’d think I was crazy, Wanda,” Natasha said. Wanda turned onto her side and faced her nightstand. “Uh-huh,” Wanda answered.

Natasha said goodbye and Wanda set the phone down on the pillow beside her. She took a deep breath and felt herself drift off. Then suddenly, Wanda’s eyes flew open. “She wants to play _Parker_ on the _wing_!”  Wanda launched herself at her phone once more.

* * *

 

Steve woke up early that morning and crept quietly downstairs to avoid waking Bucky, who had been in a terrible mood the night before. He got breakfast and turned on the T.V., tuning it into _Cloud Sports News_. He opened the news app on his phone and scrolled lazily through the articles until one stood out.

_‘Russian Roulette: How Natasha Romanoff Can Change Football.’_

Steve set down his bowl and clicked into the article quickly, anxious to see the content.

‘ _It is no secret that football has evolved in recent decades. Players have gone from local heroes to global stars, from the working-class “everyman” image to millionaire playboys. Football has taken leaps forward and even a few steps back. Some clubs have shown remarkable loyalty to managers, while others have been trigger happy with hirings and firings- both styles having mixed results. Some teams go for the ultra-modern tiki-taka tactics or the old-reliable “_ boot the ball up to the centre forward and kick lumps out of the other team”.

_One small club the north-east seems to have decided that going forward sometimes requires a little step back. Washington Eagles F.C. made history when it appointed Natasha Romanoff as its manager, making it the only major, professional club in England with a female head coach. The “leap forward”. However, Romanoff’s tactics and team harken back to a simpler time. Her teams favour a simple but effective counter attack, with a touch of Cyruff’s legendary “total football” with several players adept in many positions. They are exciting yet nostalgic to watch, with players like Tony Stark and Clint Barton picking out passes to large centre forward Steve Rogers and the hard-tacking likes of Thor Odinson and James Rhodes, not to mention the Lev Yashin-esque athleticism of their talismanic goalkeeper T’Challa._

_The point I am attempting to make is this: in order to preserve to integrity of the game and to advance it, it may be time to return to the ways of old. Natasha Romanoff’s side have beaten all expectations previously set have and are tussling for the top spot. Is it bold to say that Natasha shows an understanding of her players and of the game itself rarely seen in male managers, aside from the most world-renowned? Probably. Will she go the distance in the cutthroat world of football management? Maybe. Can she change the world of football and open door for more women in football? Absolutely.’_

The article was posted on an app that compiled articles from big newspapers and freelancers. Steve saw the article was written by one Jamie Hennessy. Most of the articles Natasha was mentioned in complained about her aloof nature with the press, or commented on her fashion sense, or ranked her number one in one of those lists of the most attractive women involved in football. It infuriated Steve that people chose only to take her at face value. Not that she wasn’t beautiful, with her movie-star good looks, green eyes and vibrant red hair. She was certainly beautiful but it was her quick wit and refined nature that endeared her to most people in the club.

Steve finished his breakfast and went for a shower before donning his shirt and tie. Bucky appeared in the hall just as Steve was buttoning his shirt.

“There’s the _Winter Soldier_!” Steve exclaimed brightly. Bucky waved tiredly through the open door. Steve rolled his eyes, Bucky was never a morning person, especially before a game. “You better be ready in an hour, Barnes!” he called. Bucky grunted in reply as he slumped down the stairs.

* * *

Pepper was listening to the radio as she read the paper and lounged on Natasha’s bed as the redhead got ready when one of the presenters referred to Bucky Barnes as the _Winter Soldier_.

“Why do they call him that?” she asked, leaning on her elbow. “Call who what?” Natasha replied distractedly as she shoved a notebook into her bag. “Barnes,” Pepper elaborated. “Why do they call him the _Winter Soldier_?”

Natasha paused to glance at Pepper before grabbing a hairbrush to untangle her wet hair. “Because he was the only player to play every game over the winter period last season.”

Pepper whistled. “Pretty impressive,” she stated. Natasha nodded in agreement as she brushed her hair. For perhaps the first time in her career, Natasha felt her stomach churning with nerves as she prepared herself to announce the inclusion of Peter Parker- the backup _goalie_ \- as the replacement for _winger_ Pietro Maximoff. She could almost hear the incredulous questions of the pre-match reporters. The Eagles were playing Millwall who were sure to be tough and physical opponents. The Eagles were three points behind the league leaders Hyde United and needed a win to keep the pressure on. Natasha knew that Thor, Rhodey and Bruce would have to be at their strongest to compete with their physical opponents, while Clint and Stark would need to be level headed and accurate in all their passes. Steve, Barnes and Parker needed to be clinical whenever they got a chance to score.

Pepper left to change out of her pyjamas and Natasha put on her blazer, blouse and jeans. Taking one last look at the notebook with the starting team written inside, Natasha took a calming deep breath and tucked it into her breast pocket. Natasha took the team talk in the dressing room before the match, leaving Wanda to explain in depth tactics to any players with questions. Now, sitting in the technical area of Lieber Park, Natasha’s right leg bounced nervously as the referee started the match.

Natasha’s prediction of a tough-tackling encounter proved accurate as both teams grappled with each other. The game was played mostly in midfield, with few chances at either goal. Thor was strong as two Millwall players and enforced the defensive line emphatically. Rhodes was vital in midfield as he won the ball back and protected Clint so that he could hit a few passed toward the forwards. Parker did well, despite the initial shock of being named in the first eleven. As a forward. The teenager had a good first-touch and controlled the ball well. He was quicker and much stronger than he looked – much to Natasha’s pleasant surprise – and held off Millwall defenders when closed down. The youngster even managed to send a lovely cross into the box. Clint played the ball into Parker, who rounded his defender and sent an early cross soaring into open space in the penalty area for Steve to head into the net for the first goal. Steve threw an arm around Peter’s shoulders in thanks as they celebrated. Natasha leapt from her seat and punched the air.

There wasn’t much more excitement in the first half after that. In the second half, T’Challa booted the ball toward Bucky (who had been relatively quiet during the game). Barnes controlled it with his chest and flicked it backwards over his head, passing the defender with a fine piece of skill. He was steaming toward the penalty box when someone came crashing into his legs with a nasty tackle. Bucky slammed into the ground and clutched his leg which burned with searing pain. Natasha, Wanda and the rest of the Washington bench rushed to their feet in fury.

Steve and Sam sprinted toward their fallen teammate and immediately called for the club medics when they saw Bucky’s pale face. Natasha immediately turned to Wanda for advice but her assistant’s face was frozen in horror and worry. The referee immediately brandished the red card and called for a stretcher as the medics attempted to treat Barnes. The chaos from the dugout seeped into the players on the pitch. The Washington players were visibly distressed. Clint ran to Parker so that the young player would not see the extent of Bucky’s injuries.

Wanda snapped back to reality and turned to Natasha. “Get Quill on. Go 4-4-2 and have Tony switch places with Barnes. Parker can play deeper on the left-hand side.”

Natasha nodded understandingly but put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You okay?” she asked. Wanda nodded but glanced back at the crowd surrounding Bucky as he was rolled onto a stretcher with an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose.

 

 


	15. The Aftermath

The world seemed to move in slow-motion for a while as Bucky was rolled onto the stretcher and carried off the pitch. The fans of both sides clapped for him as the medics brought him off. Steve patted his friend’s shoulder and the Millwall captain shook Bucky’s hand. Barnes lifted his hand and gave a lazy thumbs-up to the fans. Natasha made her way over to see her player before he was brought inside to the treatment room. However, she was beaten to it by Wanda who squeezed Bucky’s hand and walked beside the stretcher for a few paces. He turned his head and gave an awkward wink – using both eyes by accident. Wanda smiled and released his hand as the stretcher continued moving. Natasha swallowed and turned back to the pitch where her players seemed to able ambling around aimlessly.

Natasha realised that now more than ever, her players needed her to be strong and collected. She straightened up and rose to her tiptoes to find her captain. Spotting Steve, she raised her hand and waved him over. Steve arrived by her side and placed his hand on his hips. Natasha pulled him down to her level and spoke loudly in his ear so that she could be heard over the din of the stadium fans.  
“I need you to help me, can you do that, Rogers?” she asked. Steve glanced at her and nodded at her solemn expression. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, adrenaline burning in his eyes. Natasha considered him for a few seconds before reaching up again.  
“Barnes is out. It doesn’t look good. I need you to steel the boys out there. I can scream and shout here but in the end, I’m stuck on the side-lines. You’ve got to help me motivate them, okay?” she said somewhat pleadingly. Steve was taken aback by the compassion in her gaze. He had never seen her show such emotion before. He swallowed and nodded.“Whatever you want, you got me,” he assured her. Natasha gave a smirk and pointed out at the pitch.

“We’re bringing Quill on and going 2 at the front. They’ve been going in heavy on us all game, I want you to tell Clint and Tony it’s time for some rule bending. And feel free to throw your weight around, you might just flatten someone,” she finished, a mischievous glint in her eye. Steve afforded himself a small smile and Natasha patted his shoulder.  
“Go on then, do as you’re told,” she ordered. Steve nodded again and sprinted back onto the pitch and relayed the advice to his teammates. Clint nodded and within seconds of play, he had clattered into the player that had been targeting Parker all night and gotten away with only a light warning.

Tony decided to employ some dark arts of football and went down rather dramatically when tackled, throwing himself to the floor and leaving one foot dragging behind him to invite a poor tackle. Steve even earned his first yellow card of the season for a shove in the back of an opposition defender that sent the player sprawling into the wet turf.  
Natasha turned her back on the pitch and hid her smirk as the ref brandished the yellow card, but her satisfaction was cut short when she noticed Wanda’s faraway look. Natasha crossed the dugout and sat next to her assistant. “Can you check on Barnes,” she told Wanda. Wanda jumped suddenly at Natasha’s words. She knitted her brows in confusion. Natasha smirked inwardly at Wanda’s bemused expression, as if she hadn’t seen the way Barnes looked at the assistant coach.  Natasha covered her mouth as she spoke to prevent the cameras from picking them up.  
“You can go check on Bucky if you want, for purely professional reasons of course,” she said. Wanda cleared her throat and nodded, her cheeks tinged with pink. Discreetly, Wanda stood up from the dugout and disappeared down the tunnel. She made her way to the dressing room and stopped in front of the door to the treatment room. Wanda raised her hand to push the white-washed door open but hesitated. She questioned whether Bucky would want to see her and anyway, Natasha would get a report from Doctor Cho before the game was over. Wanda was about to back away and head back to the pitch when the door swung open and a flushed Helen Cho hurried out by her, nearly knocking Wanda down. Wanda presumed Cho was on her way to Natasha, and glanced inside at where Bucky lay on the cushioned treatment table. He lay with his arms covering his face and his right leg bandaged heavily and propped up on several cushions. Straightening, Wanda caught the door before it closed and stepped inside silently.  
  
She crossed the floor, her famously quiet steps making little noise, and stopped by the table. Wanda swallowed and gently placed her hands on Bucky’s arms, slowly moving them away from his face. He opened his eyes slowly and Wanda saw they were glistening with tears. She watched him force a small smile as he eyes focus on her.  
“Hello James,” Wanda said quietly. Bucky’s smile became genuine despite the formal sound of his name. “Hey coach,” he replied, shifting himself on the bed but wincing suddenly when he moved his leg. Suddenly, Wanda shifted her gaze to his bandaged leg and foot. Bucky watched Wanda intensely as she scrutinised his injury. She tried to mask her horrified expression when she turned back to him. Bucky tried to hide his own fear and attempted to speak but could not find his voice. Wanda rushed back to his side and gently wiped away the tear that had fallen onto his cheek with the side of her hand.  
“You’ll be alright,” Wanda assured him.

Bucky had closed his eyes at her familiar touch and reached up to grasp her hand. “This life is all I know,” he told her, voice shaking. “It’s all I know. I don’t want to do anything else, I can’t lose my dream.” Wanda was startled by his vulnerability and curled her fingers around his grasp.  
“We will make sure you’re alright,” she promised. Bucky swallowed and they considered each other silently for a little while before Bucky raised their hands to his face and kissed Wanda’s hand softly. Wanda gave a crooked smile and Bucky gave a wink but their moment of warmth was interrupted when Natasha burst in. Wanda leapt back and cleared her throat as Bucky dropped their hands.  
“Can we swap, I need to be in here and you need to be out there. We can’t leave the kids alone on the pitch,” Natasha said, seemingly oblivious as to what she had interrupted. Wanda nodded and left quickly, glancing back at Bucky before heading back to the pitch.

Wanda smiled slyly as she watched T’Challa launch himself at the feet of an attacker, upending the player cleanly. Minutes later, Quill nutmegged a Millwall player and proceeded to barge his way through the player. He passed it to Rhodey, who laid the ball off to Sam. Wilson ran forward and booted the ball up to Steve. Steve faked a step-over and sprinted past the defender with surprising speed for such a large man. With thirty seconds left and two men left to beat, Steve played the ball between the defenders for Parker. Peter steamed toward the ball and reached it within a few paces. His touch was deft and he knocked it ahead of him. Peter took one look at the goal before drawing back his left foot and struck the ball powerfully. It soared above the goalkeeper and rifled into the top right corner of the net. It took Peter a few seconds to register what had happened – that he had scored in his first game as an outfield player. Steve was the first to reach him and clapped him on the shoulder. Peter was stars-truck as Steve saluted to the fans with an arm around his shoulders.  
Natasha returned just as Steve passed the ball.

She saw him glance over at the side-lines as she jogged back to her seat. She gave him a thumbs-up, a gesture he returned. The referee blew the whistle and the fans cheered. While a victory was always welcome, it was bittersweet and muted in the dressing room. Natasha waited until everyone was seated to speak.  
  
“First things first, boys. Well done on the win. You got a bit of shit luck and you came back from it. You showed strength and bravery and unity out there. I’m proud of you, boys,” Natasha said passionately. She gazed around at the tired, sweaty faces and saw that they had given everything to pull themselves back after Bucky’s knock. Natasha placed her hands on her hips and sighed.  
“Look, there’s no point beating around the bush. I’ve just spoken with the doctor and it’s bad. Bucky’s gone to hospital with a broken leg.” They were the words every professional footballer feared. A bad break could end your career, no matter your age. A bad injury has destroyed careers of top flight players and sent them careening down the leagues. The players knew that as well as anyone but Natasha knew she had to bring them some solace.  
“That’s the bad news. The good news is that it’s a clean, straightforward break. Bucky could be back before the end of the season to help us finish. But we are going to have to fight harder now. You know that and I know that, but I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that I don’t feel like pontificating right now. I’ll save that for Tuesday, for now I want you to go home and recover. Don’t bother with the reporters. You did some job tonight boys, well done,” she finished. The players applauded but Natasha saw Steve staring blankly ahead. He was slower than anyone as he got ready to leave. Natasha left to talk to the media and returned to the dressing room to rush any stragglers. Everyone seemed to have left, that is everyone but Rogers. He sat on the edge of his seat with his hands resting on his legs, staring blankly at the floor.

Natasha dragged a bench over and sat opposite him. Steve didn’t even register her presence. His hair was damp from his shower and stuck to his scalp, he hadn’t bother to button up his shirt and his tie hung loosely around his neck.  
  
“What’s going on, Rogers?” Natasha asked. Steve lifted his gaze, finally acknowledging her. “I’m worried about Buck, boss,” he answered truthfully. Natasha clenched her jaw.  
“I guessed that,” she replied. “I know you’re close and he’s going to need you over the next few months. He’s lucky to have you.” Steve gave a sad smile. Natasha reached out and touched his shoulder. “He’ll be alright, Steve. Something tells me Bucky’s pretty tough.”  
Steve laughed and nodded. His face went seriously quickly and looked as if he wanted to say something.  
“What is it?” Natasha was hard to hide things from. “It’s just…” Steve began. “I don’t want it to happen to me. If it happens to Buck, of all people, what’s to stop me from breaking my leg.” He avoided her gaze partly because he was ashamed of his words. Natasha’s expression softened and then grew to a wry smile.  
“I think they might need a sledge hammer, then,” she joked.

Steve laughed and sat back, taking in the calmness of the manager. No matter what happened, Natasha was always a picture of serenity – it was one of the reasons he admired her so much. Suddenly aware of his state of undress, Steve hastily began buttoning his shirt, much to Natasha’s amusement. Natasha even helped him to fasten his tie and Steve realised just how short she was. Her forehead was just below his collar bone and he smiled at her small stature and how she always seemed the biggest person in the room at all times. Always in control. He was surprised when she brought him in for an assuring hug. Despite his shock, the physical contact was welcome and Steve buried his face in her shoulder.  
  
“Natasha,” Steve began, speaking in her ear for once. She pulled back and considered him. “Why did you come in here?”  
Natasha smirked. “I knew you’d be in here. I didn’t want you to be alone, Steve.”  
  
Steve smiled and hugged her tightly again but he didn’t know if it was because of what she said, or how she made him feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


	16. The Phone Call

Most of the players were too tired or disheartened to celebrate their victory but a handful of the boys went back to Sam’s house to play video games. Sam had insisted Steve stay at his place, not wanting Steve to be dwelling on Bucky alone. Steve, Sam, T’Challa and Thor rode in one car while Tony, Rhodey, Pietro, Bruce and Clint arrived a little later. They group did their best to cheer Steve up but eventually the conversation steered back to the match. During a cereal break from their Injustice marathon, they drifted back to the subject of Bucky’s injury.

“I just wish we could have visited him tonight,” Steve said. The others nodded in agreement. “Coach said he had to have an op as soon he arrived in hospital,” Clint mumbled through a mouthful of Coco-Pops. Pietro swallowed a spoon of Frosties. “Wanda says we can visit tomorrow. She and Romanoff are going to see him too. Maybe we can make it a club thing.”

Sam chuckled. “I sure hope they got a big-ass room,” he joked. The others laughed and Clint managed to somehow snort most of his cereal which prompted him to choke and the guys to laugh even harder. Suddenly, Thor’s phone buzzed on the arm of the couch he was sprawled out on while he nursed a bruised heel. He was slow to react and Tony snatched the phone up as he walked toward the kitchen. He dumped his bowl in the dishwasher and read the text.  
  
“Who’s ‘Lady Jane’?” Tony asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Thor pushed himself up and climbed to his feet. He strode over to Tony and yanked his phone back. “Doctor Jane Foster is lady I care very much about and is far more honourable than whatever your tiny mind is insinuating,” Thor replied forcefully, bringing himself to his full, towering height. Tony shrugged and swaggered back to his seat. Bruce seemed to be thinking deeply as he sat on the arm of Tony’s seat.  
“Did you say Foster? As in Doctor Jane Foster, the astrophysicist?” Banner asked curiously. Thor nodded and Bruce beamed. “Doctor Foster is a revolutionary mind; how did we not know you knew her?!”  
  
Tony held up is hands in a ‘time-out’ motion. “Thor is dating an astrophysicist! Seriously?!” he gasped incredulously. Steve admired Thor’s patience with Stark, he would have squared up to the rich kid a few sentences earlier. Thor clenched his jaw and Tony relented. “Well, at least we know where you disappear to every weekend.”  
Sam laughed and glanced at Pietro, who had become very quiet. “Speaking of disappearing, where did you get to last time we went to London?” he asked the silver-haired speedster. Pietro shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reached forward for his drink resting on the coffee table.  
“I don’t know what you mean,” he grumbled, brushing the question off. Rhodey folded his arms. “Wilson’s right, where did you go? Everyone called you but we all went to voicemail. You just disappeared,” he stated matter-of-factly. The others all mumbled their agreement. Pietro bristled. “I went for a walk,” he replied defiantly. Steve raised an eyebrow but said nothing, preferring to sit back and watch from a distance. He shared a knowing look with T’Challa, who gave a smirk before turning back to a squirming Pietro.  
  
“A walk, huh?” Clint snickered. Pietro scowled at him. “And you? You were nowhere to be found either!” Clint shrugged. “I went to a bar and watched La Liga highlights,” he elaborated, picking up his game controller. Steve sensed it was time to change the subject and grabbed his own controller. “C’mon guys. Did we come here to gossip or to watch Stark get his ass kicked by Batman?” They laughed and taunted Stark, Pietro’s secrets forgotten. As if on cue, Maximoff’s phone rang, making him jump. He read the caller I.D. and passed Thor his controller.  
“I have to take this,” he told the group hurriedly. Sam wolf-whistled. “Could the phone call be the key to the mystery, gang?” Tony teased. Pietro slapped the back of Tony’s head. “It is my sister,” he lied.  
  
Pietro stepped outside into the small garden and leaned up against the wall of the house. Then he finally accepted the call.  
“Hey, Darcy,” he greeted. “Hey there, Quicksilver,” Darcy replied brightly. Pietro smiled. “You okay?” he asked. “Yeah. I meant to return your call earlier but I was working and my boss is lost without me. Also, I heard you won your game.”  
He straightened and knitted his brows in confusion, she always said that she had little or no interest in football.

Darcy seemed to somehow sense his confusion by the silence on his end and hastily explained herself. “Don’t worry, I’m not a liar. The other intern at work was talking about his favourite soccer team and players, and I figured that there weren’t many players with dyed white hair around,” she explained. Pietro chuckled. “There’s not, I’m one of a kind. But you knew that, of course,” he said, zipping up his hoodie as a cold breeze blew through. He heard her laugh down the telephone line. “I wouldn’t get too cocky, Ian said you’d be a lot better if you were less flashy.”

“Ian?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. “He’s the other intern I mentioned, though I happen to be much more experienced and competent. In fact, he’s basically my intern,” Darcy rambled. Pietro smirked.  
“Well, you can tell Ian that it’s my flash that dazzles the opposition,” he told her.   
  
Darcy giggled and they both fell silent for a few seconds. Pietro found himself wanting to be with her again. They had been apart since the night they met and had only communicated through social media or phone calls. Darcy broke the silence, speaking quietly into the phone.  
“When will I see you again?” she asked softly. Pietro rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes, the exertion of the match was beginning to catch up to him. “We have a game against Fulham next Saturday but I don’t know how close that is to you…”  
“Eh, I might be able to make it,” she replied. Pietro’s eyes flew open. “To a game. You might make to the game. To my game?” he asked, shocked. “How?”  
  
“My boss has some tickets and very few friends but I happen to be one of them. I just wanted to make sure you definitely played for Washington, I’m not hauling ass to a soccer game only to watch a bunch of dudes with their natural hair colour kick a ball around a field…” Darcy huffed. Pietro laughed. “Well, I hope you can come,” he told her. “Me too,” came the reply. “Well, I better go. It’s getting late and I still have some course work for college to do. Before I go…” Darcy trailed off. Pietro changed hands with his phone and frowned with concern.  
  
“Ian also said that you didn’t play tonight because you were hurt… Are you okay?” she fretted. Pietro was taken aback at her worry. Darcy never really seemed bothered by his job or its perils before now. “I’m fine, it’s just a pulled muscle. You’re always saying how pampered we are. That’s just proof,” he assured her gently. He heard her give a somewhat relieved sigh. “Alright. Just promise to be careful.”  
“I promise you, Darcy.” Pietro knew she wasn’t convinced and longed to hold her again. He wanted to ease her worry and comb his fingers through her dark hair, but she was in London and he was in Sunderland. “I miss you,” he blurted suddenly. He clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he had spoken. Pietro panicked.

He was supposed to be smooth and collected. That wasn’t exactly meeting either of those criteria.  
“Aww...” Darcy giggled. “I miss you too, Quicksilver. Goodnight.”  
“Goodnight, Darcy.” Pietro ended the call and stared at his phone for a few seconds. “Your sister, huh?” A low, commanding voice startled Pietro and he jumped backwards, knocking over a small ceramic flowerpot. T’Challa was standing outside with his large arms folded over his chest. He wore an easy smile and Pietro let out a relieved breath. The big goalkeeper leaned against the side of the house.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing whoever is on the other end of that phone call is why you disappeared in London,” he said knowingly. Pietro shrugged and T’Challa knew that was a ‘yes’. He clenched his jaw and titled his head. “Why did you lie?” he asked. Pietro swallowed and folded his arms defensively. “I didn’t want the others to know. You know what they’re like…”  
  
T’Challa chuckled deeply. “The others or Stark?” Pietro eyes fell from his own and T’Challa knew the answer. “You saw how he treated Thor when he said he was dating a scientist. God knows what he’d say about me… I don’t have a very good romantic past…”  
The goalkeeper shrugged. “I don’t think you could call it romantic.” Pietro smirked but there was no pride or arrogance in his face, it was more of an embarrassed half-smile. “So, you don’t want anyone to know because you are worried about your reputation?” He clarified. Pietro pinched the bridge of his nose, not acknowledging the question.

  
“Do you love her?” That question caught Pietro’s attention. He shrugged again. “I don’t know yet, but I think it could be easy for me with her.” T’Challa sighed exasperatedly, as if he was a frustrated father trying to wheedle an answer out of a petulant child.  
“I don’t think you’re scared of what Stark thinks of your ‘reputation’, I think you are worried what she thinks of you. You think if she finds out anything from one of us, she will leave you alone. Only you can change that.”   
With that, T’Challa turned on his heel and returned inside, having imparted enough wisdom for one night. Now he just wanted to blow stuff up with Superman’s laser eyes.


	17. The Hospital

Everyone who wanted to see Bucky arrived at the training ground at twelve o’clock and boarded the minibus Maria Hill had arranged. Natasha felt more like a school principal than the manager of a professional football club as she shepherded the players onto the bus. She quickly counted ten players, including Steve who sat beside Sam towards the back of the bus and gazed thoughtfully out of the window. Natasha patted his shoulder as she walked past, Steve tore his eyes from the window to nod at her appreciatively. When she had finished counting, Natasha took her place on the worn blue seat next to Wanda. “We won’t have long, we are only getting so many in to see him because most of the staff support the Eagles,” Wanda told Natasha, who nodded. Wanda sighed and turned back to the window. Natasha glanced at her colleague and friend and felt guilt gnawing at her. She had been so busy with press conferences and meetings with the board since Barnes’ injury the night before that she hadn’t given Wanda a second thought.

Everyone had taken the news badly and everyone responded differently. Stark disappeared after leaving Sam’s and had shown up just before the bus left, Clint was antsier than usual, Quill had not stopped talking since ten o’clock while Steve and Wanda… Well, Steve and Wanda had gone quiet. Natasha couldn’t decide what she had done and eventually settled on telling herself that she was too busy to feel anything. Compartmentalisation was how she had survived thus far and had served her well. Steve wasn’t good at hiding his grief, then again, maybe he wasn’t trying.

His hair was uncombed and fell forward across his forehead. His blue eyes were dull. Wanda hid her worry better but Natasha could tell she was anxious. It was in the way she gazed out a window or folded her arms. Of course, Natasha couldn’t forget what she had seen in the treatment room either. The journey to the hospital took about an hour. Natasha rose to her feet just before the bus came to a halt in the underground car park. “Lads!” she called out. The players whipped their heads around to see her.

Natasha put a hand on the overhead luggage hold as the bus shuddered before stopping. “We can’t be here all day. So, behave and smile. This is a hospital, maybe you’ll lift a few spirits,” she told them. The boys nodded, Steve seemed to have been lifted from his dour mood. They all filed off the bus like schoolchildren on a field trip. Natasha led them inside briskly, not wanting to draw too much attention. When they got inside the hospital reception area, a smiling nurse pointed them to Bucky’s room on the fourth floor.

On the walk up the flights of stairs, Natasha and Steve fell into step beside each other. “I never did like hospitals,” Steve said stiffly as they rounded they next flight of steps. Natasha glanced at him and nodded. “Yeah, neither do I,” she replied honestly. Steve looked at her and she gave a crooked half-smile, a smile he returned. By the time they reached the landing, Steve’s cheeks were tinged with red and he was slightly out of breath because of the combination of the steep stairs and warm temperature of the hospital. Natasha smirked. It was the same kind of smirk that quickened Steve’s heartrate regardless of temperature or exercise.

“Alright there, Cap?” she teased. “You’re looking a little flustered.” Of course, this only made Steve turn a darker shade of red. He cleared his throat and shrugged, much to Natasha’s amusement. She smiled at the way warmth spread across his cheeks and how his deep blue eyes crinkled into a blushing smile. He was certainly handsome, with blue eyes and blond hair that was always a little unkempt. Suddenly, Natasha felt heat rising to her own cheeks and glanced down quickly. Little did she know, Steve was also admiring the quirk of her lips in her smile and her piercing green eyes. Eventually, they reached Bucky’s ward. Steve led the group but hesitated before walking into the ward.

He turned to Natasha with panic in his usually soft eyes. “Should we have brought flowers? That’s what you do, right? Bring flowers to someone. We don’t even have a card for him. We don’t-” Natasha cut across him with a firm hand on his shoulder and a confident smile. “Barnes isn’t really the flowers type, Rogers,” she assured him. Steve nodded and took a deep breath. Holding that breath, he stepped into the ward. There were no more than three beds in the relatively small room, all separated by green curtains. One curtain nearest the entrance was closed while the other two were open. A grey-haired man in pyjamas sat in a chair beside his bed, reading a broadsheet newspaper with square glasses resting on his nose.

Bucky was nearest the window. He lay in bed with the covers thrown back, still in his black football shorts with his leg being held up in a sling attached to the bed. He wore no shirt, but there was a crumpled hospital grown strewn of the linoleum floor and the tattoo of a red five-pointed star on his left shoulder. He had been reading a magazine but dropped it immediately when he saw his teammates striding toward him. Bucky’s tired face lit up when he saw his friends and any trace of apprehension any of the others felt melted away almost instantly. Natasha stood back by the window and watched as the boys spoke, however, she noticed Pietro hanging to the back of the group. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his eyes were unfocused. Natasha just stepped forward to ask him if everything was alright when he turned on his heel and hastily left the ward.

Wanda’s head snapped around from Bucky and she saw Pietro rush out of the room. She glanced quickly at Natasha, who nodded, and immediately made to follow her brother. Steve also noticed and looked to Nat who subtlety pointed at Wanda. Wanda followed her brother out into the corridor, only catching up to him in the stairwell. He sat on a step with his head in his hands. Instantly, Wanda knew what was happening. They had grown up in a war-zone, with bombs and landmines going off on seemingly every street corner. Those bombs and mines led to frequent visits to the swamped makeshift emergency room in the school gym. The cramped conditions, smell of blood and sight of the badly wounded and dead had left both twins with mental battle scars from the crossfire they were caught in.

Wanda would never forget the sheer heat of the cramped school hall. She dropped down onto the step beside Pietro and pulled him gently to her. “I thought I could do it. I thought I would be alright…” he mumbled in Sokovian. Wanda hushed him and stroked his hair. “It’s okay, Pietro. We’re not there anymore. It’s alright,” she replied softly. Pietro drew back, his breathing shaky. “I’m gonna go for a walk,” he told her, clambering to his feet. Wanda nodded and watched him head downstairs before turning to go back to the team.

* * *

 

Pietro wandered down the halls and found himself back at a type of reception. It was the same as the one they had entered when they first arrived at the hospital, only this reception had yellow walls with painted caterpillars and trees and smiling animals. Pietro realised he must be have wandered into the children’s ward and made to leave when he heard a little gasp. A little boy with sandy curls and dinosaur pyjamas was gazing at Pietro, mouth agape. His mother sat beside him on a little plastic chair. She followed her son’s gaze to where Pietro stood and slowly, realisation dawned on her face.

The little boy turned to his mother, tugging on her sleeve and pointing at Pietro excitedly. Pietro smiled and gave a small wave. He turned back, as if to leave again but thought better of it, as guilty began to fill him up. Pietro whirled around and walked toward the little boy, kneeling in front of him. “What’s your name?” he asked the young boy. The boy looked to his mother, who nodded and held his hand tightly. “Paddy,” the boy replied gingerly. Pietro smiled brightly. “My name’s Pietro,” he told Paddy. The boy nodded. “I know…” Pietro laughed and Paddy smiled a toothy smile. His mother, a young woman with black hair and tired lines on her face, spoke up. “He’s just shy. Paddy loves the Eagles, we’ve got all the shirts at home, don’t we Paddy?” she said, directing the end of her sentence at her star-struck son. Paddy nodded shyly, blushing slightly.

“They’ve mostly got your name on the back,” Paddy’s mother said. Pietro felt a swell of pride and affection for the little family. He leaned back and sat down in front of the little boy with his legs crossed so that he was smaller than Paddy. “I hate to ask, but you’re Paddy’s favourite player. Can he have a photo?” the mother asked timidly. Pietro was shocked at her nervous demeanour. He nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, you can! Would you like me to sign anything?” he asked. Paddy’s face lit up and his mother scrambled in her bag for her phone and a pen. When she retrieved both, Paddy sat down beside Pietro who threw an arm around the small boy’s narrow shoulders.

Both boys smiled brightly and it was difficult to see just who was more excited. Pietro took the pen and signed Paddy’s pyjama top. Pietro spent some time chatting and playing with Paddy, who was receiving treatment for diabetes complications. Several other children had noticed Pietro’s presence and suddenly, Maximoff had an idea. He stood up and stretched his legs out before reaching for his phone and placing a call.

* * *

 

The rest of the team arrived not ten minutes later. Even, Bucky had put on a shirt and was wheeled down in a wheelchair to meet fans. The children’s ward had turned into a hive of activity. The players posed for photos and spoke with all the children. Nurses fetched permanent markers for autographs. What had begun as a visit to an injured player and grown into a meet and greet in the children’s ward.

A little girl tugged at Natasha’s sleeve, the first child to show interest in the manager alone. Natasha smiled and knelt. “Do you like football?” she asked the girl. The girl nodded earnestly. “When I grow up I wanna be just like you,” she told Natasha solemnly. Natasha learnt her name was Sarah and that she was eight years old. They took a photo and Nat signed the back of a business card Sarah’s dad had in his wallet. Natasha noticed Sarah staring shyly at Steve. “Would you like to say hello?” Natasha asked. Sarah’s jaw dropped and she barely managed a nod.

Natasha took Sarah’s ting hand in hers and led her over to where the captain stood talking with a doctor. Natasha tapped his shoulder and he whirled around. “This is Sarah, she was a little shy but she wants to know if she can have a photo with you.” Steve smiled brightly. “Sure, Sarah! That’s my mom’s name!” he told the little girl. As Steve knelt down for a photo, Sarah failed to release Natasha’s hand. She tugged Natasha back, much to the redheaded woman’s surprise. Sarah’s dad, who was quite smitten with Steve himself, took several photographs of Natasha, Sarah and Steve all smiling widely.

Steve gave her an autograph and introduced himself properly, kissing Sarah’s little hand the way a fairy-tale prince might prompting giggles galore from the girl. She gave Natasha a big hug before she went to say hello to T’Challa, who was giving a piggyback to another little girl. Steve and Natasha smiled at each other. “It’s so easy to forget what we mean to this town,” Steve said, folding his arms. Natasha agreed. “We should do more for these kids. You guys are heroes to them.” She smiled as Bucky hefted a chubby boy onto his good knee and played with the boy’s GI JOE action figures. Steve laughed as Tony and Thor took part in ‘Ring-a-Ring-a-Rosie’ with some kids. He turned back to Natasha. “You’re a hero too, boss. I don’t think you realise that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, I've suuuper busy with school! My bad!


	18. The Late Night

_“This is Romanoff’s first test as a manager in England, to be without such a major player in James Barnes. The winter stretch is the toughest stretch of the season, aside from the Run-In in April and May. How can we expect her team to approach to the next few games?” “Well, firstly, she will have to either plug the gap left in Barnes’ absence or change formation and tactics. There are several players who can operate high on the right side but most of them- Wilson, Maximoff, Stark- are needed elsewhere in the team. Any team would miss a player of Barnes’ quality, but when you couple that with the fatigue that comes naturally at this time, Romanoff faces a real challenge when it comes to team selection. The winter months can prove to be the turning point for teams chasing promotion, or avoiding relegation…”_

Natasha huffed and gently pushed her desk chair away from her desk. She picked up the television remote and muted the pundits discussing her and her team. Natasha leaned back and covered her eyes. Her eyelids grew heavy and she let them close for a few seconds. “Because bosses never get tired?” she muttered bitterly in response to the sports pundits. Pepper told her she was a fool to listen but Natasha couldn’t help herself sometimes. Watching Cloud Sport’s rolling coverage of all things football gave her a sense of normality. She had watched while she was in America and she had watched illegally in Volgograd. She was watching in Sunderland, albeit in a state of the art office. Natasha pushed herself up from her swivel chair and stretched her arms and legs out. She’d been sitting down for hours, fielding phone calls from news outlets, Hill and even some of the grateful parents from the hospital.

She paced the room and settled on examining the whiteboard showing her starting eleven players. She had spent most of her day arranging and rearranging with very few names remaining constant. One of them belonged to the club captain. Natasha thanked the football gods for inheriting such a strong captain. Jokes and teasing aside, Steve was a leader on the pitch and steadfast in his loyalty to his manager. To her. She wondered what it was that endeared him to so many. The fans adored him, the players respected him and Natasha, she… Well, she didn’t know how she felt about him. She needed him. She needed him for his presence within the squad. She needed him for his unshakeable commitment to the club. She needed him. Natasha had always hated relying on people. The thought of leaving a part of yourself in another’s hand was terrifying to her. It went against her better nature, but Natasha knew she could trust Steve.

She was rudely jolted from her thoughts by a knocking on the door. Quickly, she crossed the room and wrapped her hand around the handle. “It’s just me,” came a familiar voice. Natasha smirked and pulled the door open, stepping back to let Steve through. “Everything alright, Rogers?” she asked brightly. Steve walked in and surveyed her office. He nodded and stuck his hands in his back pockets, not knowing quite what to do with himself. Sensing his awkwardness, Natasha smiled and sat down on the leather couch parallel to her desk, inviting him to sit. Steve smiled gratefully. “Sorry to call this late, but I didn’t want to disturb you earlier,” he told her. Natasha could not help but chuckle. “Trust me, you would have been welcome,” she informed him.

Steve laughed and sat back into the comfortable couch. “You must’ve been busy the last few days,” he said, glancing down at his hands. Natasha nodded in confirmation. “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said slyly. Steve chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.” Natasha considered him at this, eyes scanning his face as if searching him for something. He fought the urge to fidget or avert his eyes under her intense gaze. Eventually, she ended her search and gave a small smile. It was slightly different to the smiles he had seen previously, more relaxed and open. She sighed deeply and rested an elbow on the back of the couch.

“So, what is it that you seek from yours truly?” she asked, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. Steve let his rigid posture relax and he turned his body to face her. “The guys and I were talking earlier and, well, we know you’re under a lot of stress right now and we just wanted to say that we’re all behind you- err, no. We all support you,” he said, rushing to finish his sentence while his ears turned pink. Natasha itched her nose as her eyes danced with amusement. However, she greatly appreciated his words and the support of her players. She opened her mouth to thank him but he cut her off. “Also, I wanted to tell you that you have my personal support, always.”

His eyes were so solemn while he spoke. He meant his words deeply. Here he was once more, telling Natasha that she had all his faith. Again, she wondered how he could manage to have such unshakeable faith. “What’s it like?” she asked suddenly, propping her head up on her elbow. Steve looked at her quizzically. “What d’you mean?” Natasha sighed and flicked a piece of lint off her jeans. For just a split second, Steve thought he saw the armour she wore like a second skin slip, if only briefly. “Unshakeable faith. How do you manage to keep it, to trust me?” she asked exasperatedly. Steve was taken aback and folded his arms over his chest. He met her green gaze with more conviction she had ever seen from him. “Everyone needs faith sometimes,” he answered. 

Natasha clenched her jaw and pointed at him. “See, that’s where I disagree. I’ve never had faith. I have never needed faith. I need control, everywhere, at all times.” Natasha was surprised by her own brutal honestly, however, Steve seemed to be enjoying their exchange. He leaned back with a small smirk and looked to think about her words. “That’s gotta be a tough way to live, Natasha.” He spoke her name for the first time, let it roll off his tongue, relished how it sounded in his ears. She snapped her head up to look at him. She bit her bottom lip and gave her own gentle smirk. She leaned her head back,

Steve watched how she gathered her red curls and brought them over her shoulder. There was a heart wrenching sadness weighing down her words when she spoke next. “It’s a good way not to die though…” Steve reached for her, despite himself, and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. He smiled and let his hand linger on her cheek for just a moment. His touch was warm, despite the wintry weather that he had been out training in today. “And that’s enough, is it? Not dying?” he quizzed. Natasha smiled ruefully. “In my unfortunate experience, yes.” Steve founded himself laughing quietly. “That must be some experience,” he said appreciatively. Natasha joined him in his laughter.

“That’s for damn sure. Do you see many red-haired Russians with American accents walking around Sunderland?” “Come to think of it, not really. No.” After a few minutes, their laughter died down and Steve decided it was best he didn’t overstay his welcome. He stood up, followed by Natasha, and made his way for the door. He opened the door and stood, half-in, half-out of the room and smiled down at Natasha. “Well, it’s good to see stress and exhaustion haven’t dented your sarcasm,” he joked. Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “The day I lose my sarcasm, I want you to send a ball soaring at my head,” she replied quickly, folding her arms and lifting her chin defiantly.

Steve bit his lip and glanced at his feet. “I can’t make any promises.” He lifted his head to look at her once more. Her hair hung around her shoulders in clumps and she had dark rings under her eyes, but somehow, she managed to exude calmness and- yes- control. He seemed to bend down slightly, bringing his face closer to hers. She could make out the tiny beads of water that still clung to his scalp from his shower in the changing rooms. She straightened and made herself taller. Suddenly, just as they grew closer still, Natasha took a small step back and cleared her throat. Her eyes dropped from his face and roamed around, not focusing on anything.

“I have some work to finish off, and you better get home before it gets any later…” she told him, suddenly very formal. Steve nodded briskly and set off down the hall after a gentle ‘goodnight’. Natasha watched him for a few paces before shutting the door. She heaved a sigh and let her back lean on the door. Steve had been about to kiss her, of that she was certain. But know she was starting to wish she had let him, for reasons she couldn’t quite say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we get closer, and closer...


	19. The Golden Boy

_“Well, it’s a funny place Craven Cottage, with its literal cottage in the eastern corner of the stand and with the players having to walk outside the stadium to get into the pitch from the dressing rooms. There’s always something special about Fulham’s home stadium.”_

* * *

 Natasha gazed around the quirky stadium as she took her place in the dugout. The players jogged onto the pitch, gearing themselves up for a tough game. A win would put them on top of the league, leapfrogging them over both Hyde and Xavier United. They all knew the importance of the match against Fulham, only a win would do. However, Natasha had been forced to field a changed team due to Bucky’s injury. Barnes’ absence meant that she had a gaping hole in attack and was forced to play with four midfielders and two attackers, as opposed to her preferred system of three of each. Pietro dropped deeper into midfield while Stark pushed forward behind Steve and Parker played on the right of midfield.

It wasn’t an ideal selection, but Natasha was grateful that her defence was still intact with no injuries forcing Thor, Bruce, T’Challa, Sam and Quill out of games, though Natasha knew that was bound to change to colder the weather got. Regardless of her potential stresses, she sat on the cushioned seat and zipped up her club issued parka jacket to protect her from the bitter wind blowing through the ground. The players didn’t seem to notice, though they all wore their skins under their shorts and jerseys. Washington wore their purple and black alternate kit as Fulham’s white shirts clashed with the Eagles’ away kit. Steve stretched his arms out and glanced around as they waited for the referee to blow his whistle. Fulham’s captain took the ball and put it down on the centre spot. The referee signalled to start, and they started to play.

* * *

 With Tony now playing as a second striker, Clint and Rhodey were having to work harder than ever to start attacks while at the same time providing an extra layer of defence. However, they had managed to hold it together and forced Fulham to attack via the wings. Sam was tested but rose to each challenge with ease. He blocked almost every cross and dispossessed every attacker that came near him. T’Challa made sure his defenders were organised and was assertive in his area, collecting any balls that sailed toward the box. The game was still tough and physical, though. Thor found himself holding off several Fulham players at once on one occasion. He used his massive arms to hold off the attackers before passing the ball to Quill, who stood close by. Quill then moved the ball to Rhodey in the centre of the pitch. Sensing a building attack, Steve and Tony pushed further up the pitch as did Parker and Pietro, all dragging their defenders with them.

Rhodey passed to Clint who was standing in the opposite half and dashed forward. Clint received the ball and nudged it through the legs of an oncoming opponent, much to the delight of the travelling fans. When he looked up again, he saw Steve and Tony struggling to get free of their markers. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint spotted Rhodes steaming forward. Remembering Rhodey’s rocket of a left foot, he rolled the ball into the path of the midfielder. Rhodes sprinted forward, eyes on the ball, already spotting where he wanted to hit it. Finally, he reached the ball. Without breaking stride or losing power, he reeled back his left foot and struck the ball powerfully.

The ball whistled through the air, curving slightly as it fizzed passed the helpless goalkeeper and into the top right corner. Thirty minutes in – Washington were leading one goal to nil. The players erupted at the rare sight of a Rhodes’ goal. Tony leapt on his friend’s back as he attempted to return to his position nonchalantly. Natasha, who had been watching the build-up intently, had the same reaction as most fans in the ground. She went from standing with her arms folded solemnly to jumping slightly and punching the air. Wanda and the other coaches leapt off the bench as they celebrated the 30-yard effort. That goal seemed to the catalyst that turned the game in Washington’s favour. The mix-match midfield began to click as the game went on.

Clint and Peter began to understand each other more and Barton was better able to anticipate where Parker was going to be and what runs he was going to make. Tony was forced to show his grit when Fulham players hassled and crowded him, but he was also able to demonstrate his more technical abilities when he nudged the ball between the players and over their heads. Pietro also pitched in with several tricks of his own. While Barnes was gone, Tony and Pietro turned on the style to fill the gap. The Eagles began to dominate possession and passed the call to each other calmly. While waiting for the ball to reach the final quarter of the pitch, Steve glanced at the touchline and saw his manager looking on. Natasha’s eyes analysed the game but there was slight apprehension in her gaze. Steve knew she wanted them to get another goal before half-time. He returned his attention to the game just as Parker broke through the defensive line.

Sam had been on the ball when he’d spotted the teenager loitering on the shoulder of a defender ahead of him. Wilson caught the kid’s eye and lobbed the ball toward him. Peter let the ball bounce over the defender’s head and swivelled in the opposite direction, leaving the full back stranded. He sprinted to the ball and controlled it with the outside of his right foot. Players tried to catch up with but even Steve marvelled at the way the seventeen-year-old danced through the defence as if the ball was stuck to his foot. He cut inside from the right flank, switching the ball between his feet and nutmegging players as he went. Steve had to check his run to stay onside as Peter made it closer to the box. He and Steve were the furthest forward. Peter made it into box at an angle and rolled the ball forward for Rogers, bending his run behind the captain. The goalkeeper scrambled toward him and Steve made a quick call. He made out as if he were about to shoot but instead back-heeled the ball into Peter’s path. Parker reacted quickly and took a single touch to bring the ball completely clear of the goalkeeper before passing it into an unguarded net.

Two-nil and Peter’s second career goal.

The referee blew the whistle for half-time and the Eagles were in good spirits in the dressing room. Natasha had to admit that it was an extremely solid performance so far. She urged them to keep concentration. “I would say not to let them bully you off the play, but we don’t seem to be having that problem,” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The boys all laughed nervously, prompting Wanda to chuckle quietly to herself. Natasha walked around the room as the players took on more fluids and scoffed fruit and energy bars. As she made her rounds, she stopped by Peter and Tony. “That was a nice break you orchestrated there. Keep it up.” Peter’s jaw dropped at Natasha’s praise.

“Th-thank y-you ma’am,” he stuttered. Natasha put her hands in her pockets and nodded encouragingly before slinking away again. Tony clapped him on the shoulder and Peter ran a hand through his sweaty brown hair. “You’re doing good, kid,” he assured him. Peter smiled, and Stark went to talk to Clint about getting more balls played ahead of him.

The players went out for the second half energised and ready to continue their dismantling of Fulham. Steve and Tony kicked off and passed the ball to Rhodes. They concentrated on keeping possession and drew Fulham further up the pitch to leave space in behind the defensive line for the attackers. Quill was put under pressure and was forced to play the ball back to T’Challa in goal, who delighted the crowd by nutmegging an oncoming opponent and booted the ball up to Tony.

Stark played the ball to Steve whose shot was saved and rolled out for a corner kick. Most of the Eagles went up for the kick. Thor and Sam pushed up into the box, the influx of players led to a crowded penalty area with players pushing and jostling for room. As Peter Parker whipped in the corner, the ref blew his whistle and the ball bounced harmless out. Someone had been battling with Clint for the ball and as Barton had dashed forward the Fulham man yanked on his shirt so hard it ripped the fabric. Clint and some other players argued that they should have been awarded a penalty, but the referee waved them away and signalled for the kick to be retaken. Clint yanked his shirt off over his head in a huff. He ignored the ref’s orders to return to the dugout for a new jersey and attempted to play shirtless while the yellow-shirted ref chased after him.

The whole ground whooped and hollered, even Natasha couldn’t keep herself from laughing as she beckoned over Tony so that he could deliver Barton a jersey. Eventually Clint acquiesced and pulled the white shirt over his head. Peter replaced the ball at the corner flag and reset himself. This time he floated the ball toward the centre spot. Thor made a run from the far post and rose higher than anyone else around to head the ball into the right corner of the net. Steve added a final goal from a free kick to end the match four-nil to Washington and brought Steve’s tally to twelve goals so far this season.

Natasha made sure to show her delight at their performance when the players all arrived back in the dressing rooms. The players sang and chanted, and it took Natasha a lot of effort to gain their attention. Steve spotting her waiting impatiently for them to settle. He smirked and extricated himself from Thor’s grip. “Need a hand?” he asked, striding over to where she stood. Natasha considered him with a quirk in her lips before nodding. Steve laughed and hoisted her onto a table in the middle of the room where she could tower above everyone else with ease.

“Boys!” she yelled. The players immediately stood to attention. Natasha smirked and folded her arms. “If we could keep the frat parties to a minimum, that would be great. Look, that was a nice game with good plays. Go out and celebrate, but don’t cause any massive scandals.” The players cheered again and hurriedly got ready. Most darted out the door before Natasha had time to get down. Thankfully, she had help. Steve reached up to her and took her waist once more. Natasha covered his hands with hers as he gently lifted her off. The dressing room was almost empty, so no one noticed the way they lingered close together.Steve cleared his throat and swallowed. “You could come with us, you know,” he told her. Natasha looked sideways and sighed. “Thanks, Steve but I don’t think that would go down to well,” she admitted reluctantly. Steve bit his lip and spurred on by the leftover adrenaline in his system he asked in a whisper; “Would that be so bad?” Natasha responded by smirking and carefully moving out of his hold.

“Careful, Steve. Anyone might think that I’ve ruined the wholesome Captain America.” As he watched Natasha turn away, Steve thought to himself; ‘ _I wish you would._ ’

* * *

 Meanwhile, Clint was heading outside to meet the others in the parking lot. He spotted Pietro holding a small brunette tight while Thor and a taller woman looked on, arm-in-arm. Clint smiled inwardly and dug his thumb under the strap of his gear bag. Unfortunately, while he had been gazing at the affectionate couples, he walked straight into someone and sent them sprawling. A string of curses streamed out of the mouths of both Clint and his victim. Immediately, Clint dropped his bag and reached for the other person. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you!” he apologized. He saw that the person on the ground was a girl. Wearing a weathered leather jacket. “Geez, I don’t know if I should be offended by that or not.”

Hennessy sat up and accepted Clint’s hand. She brushed herself off and set down her empty paper cup. Clint picked up his bag again and scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry, Hennessy. You alright?” Hennessy smiled and nodded. “I’m grand,” she said. “But you do owe me tea.”

Clint laughed, and Hennessy folded her arms. “I don’t joke about tea, Barton.” Clint only laughed harder and stuck his hand in his pocket. Hennessy gave a crooked grin. “You watch the game?” he asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. She nodded and held up a small notebook. “Yeah, I’m covering it. Good game, you played well,” she told him, turning over her notebook in her hand. Clint smiled and feigned relief. “Phew… Thought I had a stalker,” he joked. Hennessy tilted her head and pursed her lips. “I’m sure everyone saw enough of you tonight,” she threw back, expecting him to show a slight sliver of shame. However, Clint Barton was not ashamed.

He stood proudly and smiled brightly. “It was a little hot out there,” he replied mischievously. She raised her eyebrows sceptically. “It’s, like, nine degrees Celsius out here...” she replied. Clint shrugged. “You don’t look cold.” It was true. While everyone else was bundled up in scarves and puffy jackets, Hennessy was swanning around in just her jacket and a hoodie. She scoffed. “Please, I’m Irish. This is lightweight crap. We go swimming during hurricanes.” Clint raised a concerned eyebrow and pursed his lips. “That seems dangerous.” Hennessy nodded reluctantly. “I never said we made impeccable judgement calls.” Clint laughed, and Hennessy smirked. “So, where are you guys going tonight? Planning on beating up anymore creeps?”

Clint shrugged. “I’m always planning on beating up creeps.”. Hennessy laughed. “No, uh, I heard the guys talking about some Irish nightclub in town,” he answered. “Seriously?” she groaned. “Like, one of those ‘leprechauns and fake gingers’ Irish clubs?” Clint glanced down to hide his smirk. “Probably.” Hennessy huffed. “What would you have me do?” he queried smugly. Hennessy smirked. “Well,” she began. “I’m heading to an actual Irish pub in town.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Clint shifted on his feet and fought the urge to shiver against the cold. “Maybe I should further my education,” he ventured. Hennessy bit her lip and adjusted her hood to defend her neck from the wind blowing through. Clint coughed to cover his smirk at her showing the slightest sign of the cold.

“You know, I’ve been told my true calling was teaching.”

“By all means, lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was kind of a filler, but I hope you liked it!


	20. The Balcony

The voice in the back of Clint’s head pleaded with him to stay with the team, to not follow the strange journalist he barely knew (save for a quick web search). If Natasha found out he was friendly with a journalist after she explicitly told to stay away from the press, she would almost certainly have his starting spot. He had every reason to leave, yet his curiosity conquered whatever the voice of reason had to say as he followed Jamie over to a taxi rank.

Hennessy bent into the passenger side window and spoke with the driver before turning around and beckoning him to follow. Clint obliged and dropped his kit bag into the back seat as Hennessy plopped down into the front seat. While they drove, Clint pulled out his phone. He had a text from Stark asking him where he went, he quickly responded saying that he had met a friend and was heading out with them which wasn’t a complete lie. After that he made sure to turn on the sound and stuffed the mobile back into his suit pants pocket. Eventually, they pulled up to the curb. Hennessy practically threw the money at the driver before jumping out of the cab. Clint followed the enthusiastic Irishwoman out of the car and found they stood in front of a very normal-looking bar. “This it?” he asked sceptically. Hennessy looked at him with a crooked smile and nodded.

Clint glanced back up to read the name on the sign. Well, he attempted to read it. “Oh An- Oh ao- What does that even say?” he asked, bewildered. Hennessy smirked and spoke a series of tumbling words and sounds that left him no better off. Seeing his confused face, she relented and pointed up. Clint found that she was nearly his own height. “Ó hAonghusa. Say oh-hane-gus-ah. It’s the Irish for Hennessy,” she elaborated. Clint laughed and folded his arms. “So, you’re drumming up business?” he said matter-of-factly. She laughed and shrugged. “I suppose so, it belongs to a cousin of mine. But I advertise with good cause, I promise. C’mon.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the doors after her.

Once inside, he was met by the smell of beer and a burning hearth. Warmth hit him like a punch in the face. It was as if the bar was separated into two halves. The first half was the bar itself and was incredibly narrow. He had to shuffle sideways to slide past the patrons sitting at the countertop. Most were talking amongst themselves or gazing up at a mounted television behind the bar. Hennessy waved at the barman and shouted an order over the noise as they passed through. The second half of the bar opened out into a square. The walls were lined with old leather seats that you sank into. On the right side there was a lit brick fireplace, opposite was a small stage. Squeezed into the middle of the floor was a pool table. The relatively small bar was already flooded with people. Clint allowed Hennessy to lead him to a table beside the fireplace. She motioned for him to sit down on the deep leather seat. As he lowered himself down, he savoured the relief of sinking into the seat. The aching in his legs eased to a dull sensation as he stretched them out under the table. Hennessy disappeared only to materialise seconds later with two drinks in hand.

She slid one over to Clint and kept one for herself as she dropped down onto her stool. “What’s this?” he asked, lifting a suspicious brow. Hennessy laughed. “What, you’ve never seen a hot whiskey before?” she responded. Clint shrugged and held the shallow glass to his lips. “It’s good for aching bones, trust me,” she assured him in a softer tone. He hated to admit that she was right. As he sipped, warmth spread through his body, stretching through his calves and down to his toes. “You use this trick when you played?” he asked absent-mindedly. “How do you I played?” came the reply. Clint realised that he should have kept his mouth shut.

He hazarded a slow glance upwards and was met by stern blue-green eyes and a clenched jaw. He gulped. Suddenly, Hennessy scowl broke into a grin. She began to laugh. Clint felt heat rising in his cheeks and fought it as best he could. No one made Clint Barton blush. “I may or may not have googled you…” he admitted, fighting back a broad smile. He glanced back at Jamie who was really struggling to keep it together. It took several deep breaths before she could form a coherent sentence. “No don’t worry you keep laughing,” Clint mocked. “I’ll just wait here with my free drink.” “I’m sorry. It’s just weird to think of someone googling me. But yeah, you’re right. I played once upon a time,” she told him. “You were pretty good from what I read,” he replied. She shrugged and pulled off her jacket and hoodie. “I was fine. I was a right back.” Hennessey leaned back in her seat and sipped her beer.

She saw his curious expression and sighed. “I was the youngest player to captain my country when I was eighteen. I moved to Arsenal Ladies when I was nineteen. I retired when I was twenty-one,” she elaborated. “What happened?” he enquired gently, knowing the fear of injuries all too well. The articles had spoken of a technically gifted, strong player akin to the current men’s Irish captain, Séamus Coleman. Hennessy clenched her jaw for real this time. She folded her arms. “I was playing for the Republic of Ireland against Germany, I think. I went up for a high ball I thought I could control with my foot. As I reached for it, a German player went to tackle me. Whatever the hell she did, she caught my standing leg and reaching leg with the studs of her boots. My right leg snapped in both bones. I fell awkwardly and fractured my ankle. And that was curtains for me…”

Clint winced at her description and the thought of all the pain. Hennessy chuckled a little. “That was my reaction, too,” she laughed. Clint grimaced into his glass as he thought of all the pins she must have in her leg. “You must be fun at airport security,” he concluded. Hennessy snorted as she struggled to swallow the sip she has just taken. “I usually get there, like, an hour earlier than anyone else,” she threw back. Clint smirked. They sat and chatted for a few minutes, before challenging each other to a game of pool while a band set up behind them. Clint handed out the battered pool cues and Hennessy gave the old pool table a discreet kick to get a free game.

* * *

 

While Clint and the others were out socialising, Steve went back to his hotel room. He was too tired, and his balcony was too damn nice to not appreciate while he had peace and quiet (while Tony was nowhere in the immediate vicinity). He changed into an old white t-shirt and grey sweats, grabbed his sketchbook and one of those pencils the hotel always provided. He sat down in one of the garden chairs outside and propped his feet up on another. The air was crisp and clean, the moon was full and bathed everything from graffitied walls to supercars in its light. Natasha had also decided to head back to her own room and took a long, hot shower. She found an old woollen jumper folded in the wardrobe and shrugged it on, along with her cat patterned pyjama bottoms. Without bothering to dry her damp, curly hair, she stepped out onto her balcony after grabbing a novel from her suitcase.

She leaned on the painted black railings and curled her bare toes into the fake grass on the floor. Natasha closed her eyes and relished the cold breeze that blew against her cheeks, cooling her after the oppressive humidity of the hotel bathroom after a shower. Slowly, she became aware of the scratching sound to her right. There, separated by a limp chain, was Steve. Reclining on a garden chair, he seemed to be drawing something on an old sketchbook. His brow was knitting and his lips pouting slightly as he concentrated intently on whatever he was drawing. Natasha couldn’t help but watch as he worked, paused with the pencil in his mouth, and began again. “I like to draw sometimes. It relaxes me after a game. Takes down the adrenaline.” Steve broke the silence in a soft, tired voice. Natasha gave a small nod. “I like to read,” she replied. Steve smiled and glanced at her for the first time. He was taken aback slightly by her casual appearance.

He had never seen her without at least a tidy sweater or nice jeans on, and certainly never without makeup. Yet, here she stood. Makeup free, in cat pyjamas. He almost laughed. “What’re you drawing?” she asked, craning her neck to peak over at his sketch. He smiled and set down his pencil and sketchbook. “Whatever I see,” he replied. He saw her roll her eyes and fold her arms. “Mysterious doesn’t suit you, Rogers,” she told him, turning fully toward him. Steve chuckled and took a few steps forward. “What does suit me?” he asked impishly. Natasha bit her bottom lip. She too took a few steps forward. Her eyes swept over him but this time he held her gaze. “Honesty. Honesty suits you.” Steve felt himself swell with pride and smiled down at Natasha.

They were standing inches apart, her head a few inches from his chest. Somehow, her hand became wrapped in his much larger paws. She gave a gentle smile and Steve thought his heart might burst. Natasha was smiling at the sincerity of his blue eyes and the softness of his grip. Slowly, Steve bent down, and Natasha rose to her tiptoes. The kiss was soft, Steve’s hands to settle on her waist and Natasha’s hands cupped his face. She had to stretch her back up to reach him and Steve lifted her up. Time seemed to move slowly while Natasha’s mind began to move impossibly quickly. She was kissing Steve. The manager was kissing the captain. Her career could be over if anyone found out. But for once in her life, Natasha didn’t want to think about her career, she just wanted to be present in the moment. She just wanted to kiss Steve. And he just wanted to kiss her. Eventually, Natasha drew back.

Both of them held their mouths slightly open in shock. Steve clenched his jaw and stepped back, avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry,” he uttered. Natasha swallowed and nodded before quickly spinning on her heel, grabbing her book off the table and rushing back inside her room.

* * *

 

“I _took a lady out west one night! She had a very large appetite, she asked me to take her out to dine! I counted up my money, I had four and nine!”_

Clint’s night was going very differently. It had been several rounds of drinks since the first pool game. Since then, the band had begun and ended their set and now customers were seizing the opportunity for entertainment. The bar was completely full now, with people sitting on the ledges of the leather seats – Clint and Hennessy among them. He admitted that he should have known better than to try an outdrink an Irishwoman. All stereotypes aside, Hennessy seemed to be putting alcohol away with ease. However, now it was 2.45 AM and cracks were beginning to show in her tolerance. Currently, Hennessy led the patrons in a rousing rendition of what she assured Clint was a traditional Irish song. It seemed that everyone except Clint knew the words, so the chorus had a slightly terrifying effect as a bar full of people singing acapella.

“ _Four and nine I still have yet! Four and nine, I’ll never forget! Don’t ever take a lady out to dine, when you have in your pocket only four and nine!” “She started off with some Oxtail soup, then stewed eels to loop the loop. 'Oysters dear', she said 'are fine', but I kept me muscles on me four and nine!”_

Hennessy wasn’t a particularly gifted singer, but pure enthusiasm was getting her along way and even convinced Clint he knew the words to a song he had never in his life heard before. “ _Next thing she ordered was some filet of plaice, and put a chicken across her face. And as I saw it go down her spine, I said 'The Lord have mercy on me four and nine!”_

Clint couldn’t stop smiling as Hennessy struggled to adjust herself on the limited space of the ledge while also trying to mind her drink at all costs. When she was ready to go again, she motioned to the whole bar.

“C’mon, lads! C’mon, belt it out to hell!” she encouraged. Her accent was so thick now that Clint had to strain himself to understand. “Altogether now!” They launched into the chorus with gusto before coming to the quiet verse. Now, Hennessy gestured for everyone to calm. She handed her drink to someone sitting at her feet and stood up on the soft leather, Clint holding her arm to steady her.

“ _In came the owner and he gave a shtaaaare. He placed his foot but I won’t say wheeeeeere!” She paused slightly before continuing, a cheeky smile growing on her face. She clapped in time with the quickening pace. “Aaand out through the window, I went flying! Dancin’ on the pavement with me four and nine!”_

The whole bar erupted into an incoherent mess of noise and yells that passed for the final chorus. Hennessy took a bow while balanced very precariously and Clint had to pull her back to stop her from face planting. She plopped down beside him again. “Thank you,” she told him brightly. “Anytime,” he replied. They clinked their drinks and finished them before attempting to leave. Clint took a tentative few steps before helping Hennessy to step around the other people.

They shuffled around the others and pushed each other through the door. Clint pulled on his jacket and started walking. His nose was trained in the art of locating the nearest takeaway, and his sixth sense had never failed him before. “Where are you going?” Hennessy asked as she clambered into a cab. Clint swivelled around and answered her while walking backwards. “I’mma get junk food and then lie down for a month!” Hennessy hung out the window as the taxi drove past, shooting him a happy thumbs up. Clint shook his head and smiled. It was nice to meet someone who was as much a mess as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)  
> If anyone cares, that's a real traditional Irish song called Four and Nine!

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think in the comments! Thanks for reading


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